Makin' Music
by boughofcherries
Summary: What would happen if Rachel and Santana were paired together in Duets instead of Rachel/Finn and Mercedes/Santana? Yeah, sucky summary, but the general gist is there. This is my first fic ever, R&R'd be much appreciated. Also, Quitt.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairings: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Words: 4,038**

**Summary: What would happen if Rachel and Santana were paired together in Duets instead of Rachel/Finn and Mercedes/Santana?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Why the fuck would I be writing fanfic if I owned the damn show?**

**A/N: My first Pezberry fic... constructive criticism and general R&R would be much appreciated.**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

When Santana repeatedly told Rachel she didn't want to (read: absolutely wouldn't in any way, shape or form) sing a _Wicked_ song for their duet assignment for Glee, she hadn't banked on Rachel picking out duets from _every_ other damn musical the diva could possibly think of. Actually, she had, but Santana had hoped Rachel had swallowed some amnesia pills down with her daily dose of crazy and would stop bugging her about their stupid assignment.

Oh, who was she kidding? Of course Santana _knew_ Rachel would rattle on about_ Evita_ or something. At least if the little diva was spitting out ideas like she was paid to at a billion miles a second, Santana would just have to nod, say yes and then they'd be off to Breadstix. Of course, Berry would be driving them there and then Santana would be enjoying the coupon herself.

But, try as she might just to coast through her project with Rachel, Santana found some of those duets were a little... weird. Santana didn't know how best to express herself about some of them, without resorting to words that would probably make the little diva tear up; she found that it didn't give her the same thrilling buzz it used to. In fact, it made her feel... remorse? She wasn't sure, seeing as she'd never really felt anything akin to that before. And what was exponentially worse, was that the little diva could do some crazy things to the Latina, and she didn't know why; really, the only other girl she'd ever felt things for were Brittany, and maybe pissing Quinn off got her all hot and bothered, too. Yeah. Santana had it bad.

But besides, Schue was really starting to piss Santana off with the amount of time he'd been mashing the group into twisted little duets when he couldn't be bothered to think of something else; first, she'd been dumped with Finnessa (she was pissed the guy kept making sneaky advances on her, despite the fact he was still very much in a relationship with Berry at the time – okay, so she was confused at why she wasn't into hurting Berry _again_, but still); second she'd been placed with Tina (seriously, that was a total snoozefest considering she had the backbone of a gummy worm, however good the girl's taste in gory horror films and jocks were); and now she was working with, of all people, Rachel Berry (after the shorter girl had insisted, and by the time she had finished begging, Santana realised everybody else had been paired up – it was at that moment, she realised that she had more respect for the hat of fate than she first realised). The one person she was desperately trying to avoid. She had a rep, y'know. Well, Tina's rep wasn't great either, but she was an invisible social pariah; not a loud, obnoxious one.

"Do you ever stop to just think, Berry?" Santana growled as she threw a pink pillow from Rachel's bed at the pint-sized girl across the room, who was clacking away at her laptop on iTunes. She'd hopped straight onto the damn thing as soon as they'd gotten to Rachel's house from Glee twenty minutes ago – after Santana had been given a grand tour of the Berry household.

Rachel's house was warm and homely; the walls were decorated in pastel colours, but your attention was pulled from the soft palate to the innumerable family photos, photos of Rachel at her pageants and dance competitions and school portraits. She remembered some of the ugly sweaters the girl was wearing in some of the photographs and was hit with a pang of guilt. It resonated through her stomach, as memories of slushies and insults mixed together and spilled through her mind.

It reminded her of her own empty house, ironically; she knew her father was in California for some medical conference, and her mother was most likely lounging on the beach in Mexico with her 'friends'. Santana knew she had a number of _admirers_, which begged the question: 'If she knew, did her father know?'

Shrugging it off, Santana turned her attention back to Rachel and listened as she spoke like she'd taken those weird tablets Mr. Schue's crazy ex wife gave them for the Mash Up competition. It freaked her out a little, all Rachel's talking; she was used to hanging out with Brittany, who was best expressing her feelings through action. And even though Rachel's usual conversational topics weren't the best, just the sound of her voice was enough to calm Santana's guilt-fuelled self-loathing.

Rachel feigned hurt and turned around to glare at the Latina. "Broadway never stops to think, Santana." She huffed indignantly, "Do you take me for some kind of slacker?"

"Nope, I just think you need to get laid." Santana's eyes widened at the realisation of what she'd just said; she convinced herself it was reflexive and shrugged it off. Despite herself, she fought the grin tugging at her lips at the sight of Rachel's cheeks burning red.

"Santana, you didn't just suggest-"

"Sure didn't," Santana cut her off a little too quickly and propped herself up on her elbows, letting out an audible sigh. God, would she just stop trying to get the girl's freaking attention, already? Santana would give Rachel, like, a split second before she launched into a question three times as long as humanly necessary to ask if she was okay.

"Santana, if I might ask – without being physically assaulted by an array of pillows or stuffed animals or verbally assaulted with one of your wall of fame snipes or _nicknames_," she cleared her throat, "What on Earth is bothering you?"

"I'm bored outta my mind, Berry," Santana snapped. She paused for a second, to think of apologising, but she decided against the idea. She saw Rachel's face drop a little and inwardly groaned. It seemed that as soon as Santana had begun working with Rachel on this crap, she noticed _every_ little expression on her face, her body language or just the way she smiled when somebody (besides her fathers) talked to her as if she was a normal human being just once. It made the taller girl's heart ache a little, knowing that she'd been one of the people to do just that, but she'd been working on it, especially after the billionth epic Hudson-Berry break up.

"Perhaps, instead of lounging around like some good-for-nothing delinquent, if you took to actively helping to pick a suitable song for us to sing for our assignment, your time might be better spent," Rachel retorted. Santana quirked an eyebrow in the other girl's direction; it _almost_ sounded like an insult.

"Whatever," Santana yawned and fell back onto Rachel's bed, "So, I thought that maybe we could just hang out, seeing as I'm not in the mood to flick through a yearlong playlist of crap you've made for this _one_ assignment, and since Britt's unavailable..." Santana's voice trailed off, as she pulled herself up to rest on her elbows and looked over at Rachel.

Rachel was a little shocked at the girl's forwardness. It was as if the project meant absolutely nothing to the Latina. _What was life without singing?_ Rachel couldn't comprehend Santana's lack of interest; after all, Santana _did_ mention that Glee was her favourite part of the day. However, Rachel's longing for a friend, or at least someone to hang out with – even if it was once in a blue moon – was tugging at her heart. And the hopeful look in Santana's eyes was a little hard to ignore.

"I don't know. We haven't worked on our assignment at all..." Santana just watched as the girl rattled off into some tangent. It was as if she'd missed that the whole hanging out part of the proposition was a masked invitation of friendship. 'Masked' being the operative word; Santana Lopez would never willingly admit to extending the hand of friendship to Berry, no matter how many times Britt and Quinn told her to. Especially considering how many times Britt and Quinn told her to. And yet, after secretly agreeing with them before making some biting remark, here Santana was.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying, Santana?"

Santana jumped a little at Rachel's peeved tone of voice. She quickly composed herself and grinned slyly. "Come on, Berry. Just chill out, yeah?" Santana rubbed a spot on the edge of the bed, beckoning Rachel over.

Rachel looked hesitant, but nonetheless, got up from the computer in the corner in the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She sat close to Santana, but kept her hands firmly at her side so her fingers didn't brush against the Latina's toned thighs. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"That's more like it," Santana smiled, despite the tameness evident in the other girl's tone, and rolled off the bed, "Come on; I have an itch to scratch."

Rachel stared after Santana, confused; wasn't it just a second ago that she denied suggesting Rachel should 'get laid', and now there was some mysterious itch that needed scratching? The diva's face took on a slight look of slight disgust and a little curiosity as she toyed with the idea it might have been some codeword for one of her and Brittany's sexcapades.

"It's just an expression, Berry," Santana laughed wickedly. She'd been watching every look on the girl's face and just _knew_ what she was thinking when her mouth tipped at the corners, looking grossed out. "Put your shoes on. We're getting outta here."

Rachel did as she was told and followed Santana to her car. It was a brilliant day outside and Rachel thought that instead of driving to the mall, they could walk to the park, but she didn't ask. Santana was already a little annoyed at the prospects of spending so much time with Rachel, so she thought she'd just go along with the Latina's ideas. Maybe, after a compromise, they would go back to Rachel's and work on their song. But Rachel didn't hold her breath.

Santana flipped the radio on as soon as they were both belted in; they left it on, seeing as the station was having a bit of a Journey meltdown that afternoon. _Don't Stop Believin'_ was crackling through the speakers as the girls drove through town. Their not talking didn't make the journey awkward, per se; it was a comfortable silence, one that Santana gladly welcomed. The world's incessant buzzing had come to an end in that car, ironically enough.

"But this is the park," Rachel muttered, as Santana's Chevrolet pulled up against the sidewalk adjacent to a black iron fence with green hedges and leaves, full of the vivacity of their Indian summer, bursting out of the gaps.

"No shit," Santana deadpanned. She yanked the keys out and slammed the door shut as she exited the vehicle. She went around to Rachel's side and opened the door for her, seeing as the shorter brunette was too engrossed in pointing out the fucking obvious to move her legs. Rachel made no meal of getting out of the car quickly, yet still retaining some dignity; it was all good practice for when she'd be running around on a crazy Broadway schedule being stalked by the paparazzi.

"You alright, Berry? First you're playing Captain Freakin' Obvious of the S.S. Dumbass and now your legs are acting retarded?" Santana laughed as the two girls slowly made their way deeper into the grounds of the park. Santana pulled her hair out of the mandatory tight ponytail, sighing with relief as the tension subsided. She was sure that every single Cheerio who'd made it into adulthood without experiencing a mental breakdown three months after graduation at the loss of direction of their _every_ movement now suffered alopecia. Lucky her father's epic health plan included hair replacement. You know, just in case.

Rachel smirked a little at the girl shaking her head, leaving her fine black tresses to flow until they spilled onto her shoulders and down her back, stopping just before her underarms. Santana's hair had a full, healthy shine, and Rachel found herself staring for a little while longer than she thought necessary, or appropriate; Rachel assured herself that her admiration of the Cheerio's hair was merely because she obviously took good care of it, and impeccable personal hygiene is always an admirable trait in a person, Cheerio or not.

"Ignoring your less than eloquent insult," Rachel began, breaking the silence before the she forgot that Santana had been saying something to her as she took down her hair, "I was merely in deep thought as to why you brought us to the park, today. I was preparing myself for you to drag me to the mall and help yourself to my debit card. Again."

Santana cringed at the distaste in Rachel's voice. "I needed to make sure you had a decent dress for our mash up," Santana retorted, a little too defensively. That was half true; as much as Santana was in charge of dresses – along with Quinn – she wanted to see how far Rachel Berry's frugality could be stretched. She persuaded the smaller brunette to get a dress to show a decent amount of leg – not that it was a hard task, have you _seen_ those skirts? – which was also a major plus of that afternoon. The girl was short, but those things went on for miles and miles.

"Are you sure that's it?" Rachel smirked. "'Cause I saw you checking out my ass that day, too."

Santana froze and stared at Rachel, who promptly burst out laughing when she saw the Latina's mortified face. "I was kidding, Santana. But if you were..."

"I _wasn't_," Santana growled. Her increasing aggravation wasn't helping the blush that was spreading across her face and down her chest. She had to stop herself from letting her feelings down that far. She had to admit, Rachel's sudden sense of humour did a lot more for her than she'd care to admit in a billion years. It was totally out of character for the shorter girl, but what's the big deal? Something needed shaking up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed. She smirked and wondered just how far down the Latina that blush went.

"Hungry? There's a vendor over there that does the _best_ pretzels," Santana enthused. Rachel laughed at the sudden change of tone and subject, almost Brittany-esque in terms of how cheery the taller girl now sounded, and nodded, allowing the other girl to drag her across to the man, who handed each girl a warm pretzel.

"Holy _shit_!" Santana hissed, prodding Rachel.

Santana turned to Rachel, whose pretzel was covering her face, as if she was trying to hide. Santana took one look at her and snorted; yeah, nobody would see that giant owl on Rachel's sweater or notice how bright her skirt was. Santana's train of thought veered into the gutter as she found herself transfixed on the fact that the sweater showed off the diva's tight body, shapely curves and her skirt certainly left little to the imagination...

"What the-"

Before Santana could interrogate Rachel at eighty decibels, the diva had pressed her hand over Santana's mouth and pushed them into the bushes, pretzels be damned. Rachel ended up lying on top of Santana, who was feeling a little more than aroused by the whole situation. "Shut up, Santana. You'll disturb them!"

Quinn and Brittany holding hands on a park bench was the _last_ thing she'd ever wanted to see, or ever thought she'd see. Santana might even admit she was a little hurt by what she saw. She looked up at Rachel, who was peeking through a gap in the bush to see if they'd been seen by either of the girls; thankfully, they hadn't. Santana pushed Rachel off of her and sat cross-legged against the back of the bench. Rachel sat across from her, sitting bolt upright in front of a bush. The girls' knees were just brushing against each other, ever so slightly. Santana could feel Rachel's eyes boring into her, as she sat with her head down, staring at her hands that were placed, clasped together, in her lap. _Nice work, Lopez. Now Berry's seen your soft side. She'll be all over this like she was with Q._ When she thought about it, though, Santana wondered just why she believed Rachel Berry solving her problems would be such an issue. Sure, she had serious issues with opening up and as far as being emotionally mature was concerned, she had a long way to go, but maybe Rachel could fix that. Brittany, sweet as she was, just wouldn't be able to articulate Santana's feelings as well as one awfully-dressed diva.

"Now it all makes sense," Santana whispered in a tone that matched the melancholy in her eyes. In a second, however, the Cheerio steeled herself and went back into attack mode. "Don't even tell me that's why you just _had_ to be my partner for this Duets crap." _Brilliant work, Lopez. Now, why don't you go shove her head down a toilet and give her a patriotic wedgie?_

"Well, actually, yes," she admitted, her voice soft, leaving the faint traces of hurt in her voice to be heard, "Brittany felt bad about this whole thing." Rachel added, a little hastily. As much as it was the truth, Santana was _beyond_ pissed right now, she was sure of it. Quickly, avoiding the Latina's intense glare, Rachel took to smoothing down the pleats of her skirt.

"She can't treat Britt as well as I can. She..." Santana shocked Rachel with the soft whisper of her voice. Her anger had shifted to immeasurable pain in seconds.

"Jesus, Santana," Rachel murmured, although the exasperation in her voice was unmistakable. "You know Artie's been interested. I mean, _really_ interested." Santana looked away from her, frowning. She wouldn't let Rachel see the tears that were about to flow, even if it killed her. "Who would you prefer made her happy? Him or her?" Rachel knelt and cupped Santana's face with her hands, bringing the Latina's watery eyes to her own, calm ones. "You can trust Quinn, right?"

Santana's silence spoke volumes; only sound was their soft breathing and the rustling of trees as a surprisingly warm fall breeze swirled around them. The Latina looked up at Rachel with tears in her eyes, and at the sight, Rachel felt her heart break."And besides, as much as I was accosted by them to distract you, I had my own motives."

"Huh?"

Rachel leaned impossibly close into the Cheerio; they were sharing the same breath; Santana felt the warmth of Rachel against her, moving closer and closer. Santana's mouth was now devoid of all moisture... _Rachel Berry_ was in her close proximity, one she usually only permitted Puck and Brittany to bask in. Their deep, brown eyes locked – each set flecked with lust, hope and... more lust.

Rachel pressed her lips to Santana's quickly; the Latina quickly responded, kissing back, her lips sliding against Rachel's beautifully. Rachel brought her hands to Santana's face and cupped her cheeks, deepening their kiss.

Rachel pulled away abruptly, looking into the deep brown eyes before her. "What do you think...?

"Great," Santana breathed. She got on her hands and knees, and pushed Rachel onto her back and plunged her tongue into the shorter girl's mouth. She relished in the taste of strawberry (go figure) lip gloss that coated Rachel's plump lips, and took in the vanilla scent of her skin; soft and so, so creamy. Rachel moaned loudly into the other girl's mouth and pulled her on top of her body, needing the contact. Santana Lopez was making out with her in a public place... Even if they were hidden behind a bush, anybody could pull back a few branches and get a look on what the girls were doing.

Rachel fisted Santana's ebony tresses with one of her hands and palmed the Latina's breast, smiling against Santana's lips as she heard the Latina moan at her touch.

Santana tangled her legs with Rachel's and grinded her hips into Rachel's centre as much as she could; she needed the friction, so, _so _bad. The thing was, this was Rachel, the virgin, not Brittany, the very experienced cheerleader. She didn't want to pressure Rachel, but at the same time, feeling Rachel's hands in her hair and fondling her breasts was pretty telling that the petite diva was more than ready to give it up.

"Rachel," Santana hissed, as she tore her lips away from Rachel's, trailing sloppy, heated kisses down the column of her neck, "What time did you say your dads were getting home?"

"They're not."

* * *

Will scratched his head and scanned the room; Quinn, Brittany, Sam, Finn, Puck, Kurt, Mercedes, Artie, Tina and Mike were sat in their usual places, highlighting the two empty spots.

"So, all of you are telling me that you haven't seen Santana and Rachel _all_ day?" Will furrowed his brow, still perplexed. On any other day, Santana might have pulled this, but Rachel? No. _Never_.

"Dude, you've asked us that, like, three times now." Puck yelled back, "Can't you just take in our votes already?"

"This doesn't make any sense," Will rambled on, apparently ignoring the groans, muffled complaints of his students and Puck's very vocal objection to holding up whether or not he'd be taking one of his pool cleaning clients whose husbands were out of town to dinner. "Santana would never pass up a free meal at Breadstix and Rachel just _doesn't_ skip Glee."

The group collectively nodded and shared thoughts; Kurt and Mercedes gave each other a knowing look and whipped out their phones, seeing if there was any gossip to be ogled. Puck's eyebrow rose, as his thoughts descended into the proverbial gutter for what was probably the fourth time in the past three minutes; Finn was trying to work out just what Puck found so amusing. Sam was too busy giving Mike some work-out tips to really care.

"Until last week I thought Quinn was straight," Brittany smiled, taking Quinn's hand in her own. Quinn blushed furiously under the intense glare of eight disbelieving gleeks and Mr. Schue, though never letting go of the other blonde's hand. Somewhere to the left of all this, Sam's face dropped and Puck's lit up.

Mr. Schue cleared his throat, pulling the attention away from the two girls. "Right... Well, I guess I'll just take in your votes."

* * *

Santana held Rachel up against the wall in the closet, nipping and sucking at the taut honey-coloured skin of Rachel's chest and collarbone. If there was exposed flesh, you could bet that Santana's lips would be attacking them with lust-fuelled vigour. She watched as Rachel writhed around in her arms, biting her lip to keep from moaning and yelling too loud. It was a common thing for Santana to be more turned on by her partner physically unable but needing to moan and yell because of her _talents_, rather than moaning and yelling anyway. But that was a pretty great thing, too.

Santana smirked; she found out Rachel was _definitely_ a screamer around twenty minutes after they crashed through her front door and practically wrestled each other up the stairs to her room yesterday.

"Rach, I thought you said we should go to Glee since we spent all day in your bed rather than, like, showing up at school," Santana muttered between alternated bites and licks of that pulse spot beneath Rachel's ear. She knew what Rachel would tell her, she just liked hearing it. "Coach is going to kill me."

"Shut up, Santana," Rachel growled, digging her nails into Santana's back, through her cheerleading uniform. Santana groaned into Rachel's chest at the harshness of the touch. "Just fuck me. I'll give Sue Sylvester a piece of my mind _and_ buy you dinner at Breadstix for a month if you just shut the fuck up right now and do me."

Santana sank her teeth into the soft skin of Rachel's neck. That was a lot of dates.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Rachel/Santana, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T (may change as the story progresses, depends how I am with writing actual smuttage...)**

**Summary: The aftermath of Rachel and Santana's **_**deviation**_** from attending school like all good girls should. *snort***

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, Ryan Murphy would have been sacked **_**long**_** ago.**

**A/N 1: Hi again. The reviews for the last chapter were awesome, thank you for all of them. Also, thank you for the sheer amount of favourite alerts, too. That was pretty cool to wake up to. **** So, I originally intended this to be a one shot, but a couple of reviews suggested that I should add to this. I thought about leaving it as it is and writing a sequel; there are a few unanswered questions about the girls' home lives and a whole lot of Brittana subtext, but if I'm honest, I quite like the title and can't be bothered to think of a new one. Titling things is just plain difficult. And naming a sequel 'Such and Such 2' is just kind of lame, no?**

**A/N 2: So anyway, here's a second chapter for you. I need to get my shit together and find a direction for this fic to go in because I fear I may never know how to end it, so I'm basically just setting up foundations for things to come, so hopefully that'll whet your appetites. I just don't want to leave you guys high and dry, because I know how annoying it is when authors don't update regularly. But I'll give you a fair warning that I'm a **_**bit **_**of a procrastinator and have other things to keep on top of... so yeah... Sorry.**

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**Makin' Music**

"So, where were you and Rachel yesterday?"

Santana turned to see Quinn standing behind her, wearing her Queen Bitch smirk. She hadn't seen that for a while, now. _Great. She's definitely planning something_. "It's called food poisoning, Q," she lied easily, trying hard not to let her frustration seep into her voice. "I don't know about Rachel, though."

Quickly, she grabbed her towel and shower gel, hoping Quinn would get the message and not follow her to the cubicles. It wasn't that she had a problem with Quinn – or anybody, really – seeing her naked due to her lack of shame. And besides, she'd been a Cheerio for two years, now; you get used to it after about a month, unless you become a skilled shower ninja.

Santana had enough of the third degree from Coach during practice; for missing yesterday afternoon's practice, she was ordered to run suicides for the entire duration of this morning's practice, but not before Coach had degraded her in front of the _entire_ squad. She deserved it, and it was so worth it; plus, seeing as she was already at the bottom of the pyramid, she didn't have much to lose. Unless Coach decided to literally beat Santana into the ground.

"Are you sure?" Quinn continued, still smirking, and followed Santana to the shower block.

"Do you mind, Q?"

"I'll shut my eyes," she grumbled. Quinn placed a hand over her eyes and stood with her back to the showers as Santana stood under one of the heads and turned it on, relishing in the feel of the warm water running over her skin.

"You know, I don't think spending all day in bed is classed as an illness," Quinn shouted, over the sound of water splashing against the cool tiles. She bit her lip to keep from laughing as she spoke; all she could think of, besides Santana's reaction, was the fact that Brittany had concocted several reasons for Santana and Rachel's disappearance (all of which included the words 'sex', 'a lot' and 'whipped') as pillow talk last night. And then she thought of what happened afterwards...

"What?"

"Nothing," Quinn snickered.

Santana shut the showers off harshly and wrapped herself in her towel, drying off. "Come out with it, Fabray. And I know you're dating Britt."

"So does the whole school," Quinn retorted, inspecting her nails. She elaborated, upon seeing Santana's shocked face. "She basically outed us while we were discussing where you and _a certain diva_ were yesterday and naturally, Kurt and Mercedes spread it around."

"So you're not mad?"

"How could I be?"

Good point. "What about your mom?"

"We decided to tell her yesterday in case she found out somewhere else," Quinn shrugged, "She accepts it but she's not crazy about it. I didn't expect her to be. And before you try and change the subject again, my Dad doesn't know. Do you think I'd be standing here if he did?"

Santana gave Quinn a sympathetic smile and shut her locker, having finished getting changed. "I'm happy for you, Q, but you'd better not hurt her."

"I won't," Quinn replied, grabbing her things and falling into step with Santana as they left the changing room, "So you'll give me the real reason you and Rachel were MIA yesterday later on?"

"I already did," Santana snapped.

She and Quinn parted ways at the door to the locker room, thankfully, and Santana made it to American History without a hitch. Not that anybody would dare get in her way anyways, but still; it was nice to know that everything was going smoothly. She hadn't heard hide nor hair of Rachel being slushied – she had settled a deal to put a moratorium of any slushies within ten feet of Rachel with Quinn as soon as they'd met up that morning – and she also hadn't heard any rumours of Finn being a douchetard and asking her out. _Yet_.

But of course, Finn would be sitting by the only available seat in the room. That was the crappy part about missing even _one_ Cheerio's practice, even if she was having the best day of her life instead. She didn't care about being late, but sitting next to Finn as a result of it was like purgatory.

Santana thought Finn would be stupid enough to forget that he was in this class (again), and that she'd have an easy ride, dishing out snarky comments and ice cold glares to whoever looked at her the wrong way. Finn seemed to be immune to some of them, due to the large chasm of stupid where an otherwise normally functioning human brain would sit. She sat as far away from him as she could manage at the table and pulled her stuff out, creating a wall of books between them.

"Hey, Santana," Finn drawled, resting his arm on the books, "So, what about you and Rachel?" Finn looked unsure of what to expect from the cheerleader, but was still curious. Finn didn't quite get what Puck kept laughing at him for; he only asked him what he thought was so hot about both Santana and Rachel being MIA when they should've been in Glee. Something about lady babies. But ladies can't make babies together, his biology teacher said so. Puck needed to get to class more often.

"What about me and Rachel?" Santana glowered at the boy. She watched as his face drifted off into some little dream world; probably something about Power Rangers playing football in _Call of Duty_ or something. Whatever. Finn wasn't interesting enough for you to overanalyse the tumbleweed in his hollow noggin.

"Well, you weren't in yesterday and I thought you wanted to win that dinner at Breadstix... And Rachel never misses Glee." Finn's eyes narrowed accusingly at her. "Were you tormenting her again?"

"Shut up, Finnocence," she snapped, "There's a moratorium on Rachel getting slushied." She growled in exasperation as she saw Finn scrunch up his face in confusion. She elongated each word, just to make sure Finn caught all of them. "It's not allowed anymore."

He nodded; apparently he'd picked on _some_ useful information lately. "Well, I know you; you've been a bitch to her."

"And you haven't? Jeez, Hudson, you've dumped her time and time again, plus you can't even defend her in public? And you don't even apologise," Santana snarled. "At least I do that much. Plus, I'm trying to make amends." _Yeah, unless 'amends' suddenly means 'Rachel scream so loud she burns her vocal cords but not because her singing voice is so spectacularly sexy'._

"Yeah, well, don't forget that there's one thing you did that can never be erased." Finn whispered, his mouth curling into a tight grin. His eyes flashed with victory. He knew Santana wouldn't be able to top that.

Santana winced as her stomach flushed foul green with nausea; she should have seen this one coming, but then, she never thought Hudson would have the balls or the brain to say it. Quickly, she steeled herself and leaned over to Finn, "And let's not forget that it takes two to tango, huh?" Finn was certainly disconcerted by her dangerously soft voice; usually, it was just dangerous.

After a long, heavy silence, Santana and Finn exchanged one final cold glare and turned away with each other, jaws clenched. It was _on_.

* * *

"So, Berry..." Puck sidled up to Rachel as they took their places in English, "You decided to show up today?"

"Yes, Noah," she answered easily, before furrowing her brow together and looking back at him. "Wait... why are you in English?"

"I figured I'd get to see my favourite hot Jew, is why," he flirted, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "Did Santana make it in, too? Or did you wear her out?"

Rachel blushed furiously and was about to make a cutting remark to him, but Mr. Wallace entered, clutching a cup of searing hot coffee and a fearsome scowl, effectively shutting the shut the whole class up. You didn't mess with Mr. Wallace, that's for sure; nobody messed with him after he took out all the windows in his room with several chairs after six people failed to hand in their midterms on time. He feared only Sue Sylvester, after she constructed a pile of every single one of his textbooks into an effigy of the man himself and set it alight in his backyard for hitting her car with one of his chairs. (The leg of one left a small dent on the right side, just above the front wheel; apparently her insurance didn't cover rogue chairs).

Rachel turned her head to the front of the class and tried not to focus on Noah's smirk teasing her in the corner of her eye, but to no avail. William Shakespeare would have to wait until Noah got whatever it was off his chest, and that would only happen if Mr. Wallace had the good grace to leave, perhaps for another coffee. Or maybe some therapy.

Rachel was not, under any circumstances, having this conversation in a crowded hallway. If the news was relayed to Kurt and Mercedes – or worse yet, Jacob Ben Israel – before she and Santana had talked this through, she was pretty sure she'd about die.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Noah," Rachel hissed, as Mr. Wallace left the room for some errand or another. _Score_. Try as she might, Rachel couldn't stop a blush erupting on her cheeks at the thought of what she and Santana had done yesterday. She'd managed to get away with skipping school and then running to the janitor's closet instead of going to Glee like she planned, but the closet was secluded and they hadn't planned a duet anyway... It was the most amazing vicious circle _ever_.

What she did find annoying was that her fathers were home from their conference last night, so Santana couldn't stay over. They did manage to get away with Santana pressing Rachel up against the door as she bid the Cheerio goodnight, shoving her tongue down her throat. You know, one for the road. She was glad her fathers were blinded by the fact that she had a friend and not what she was actually doing with said friend behind a slightly ajar door on the porch for the rest of the world to see.

"Oh, I think you do," he chuckled. His eyes met hers for a second and he had hit the jackpot. For a great actress, Berry sure was open as a book. Or maybe she wasn't trying to hide her thing with Santana... "But hey, if it's not serious, I'd like to take you out sometime."

"Noah, I am quite simply not interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you, despite your endeavours, so please refrain from asking me that ever again." Rachel tried to sound as angry as she could without alerting Noah as to why she wouldn't date him. Well, she figured he already knew, but the boy had no filter whatsoever – she learned that when they dated before – and she and Santana hadn't ever discussed the whole relationship aspect of their recent activities.

Rachel had been yearning to have that talk with Santana as soon as that thought had popped into her head as she took her post-elliptical shower at six twenty AM _on the dot_, however, her thoughts only ever boiled down to the fact that she'd never once known Santana to be interested in a serious relationship. She thought last year that she and Brittany would be the perfect matches for each other, but things change... things most definitely change. That was obvious. She didn't know what had changed and how much, though. Was Santana even over Brittany?

"Sure thing, babe," he smirked. "Guess I'll just try Quinn and Britt instead."

"They're out?" Damn. She wondered when that happened... it was only two days ago that they were begging Rachel to distract Santana so she wouldn't know (and people would be more interested in why Santana Lopez was spending longer than necessary within ten feet of Rachel Berry).

"Hell yeah, but Quinn's not into sharing... yet. Third time's a charm, right?"

Rachel shook her head at Puck's hopefulness. There were other things clearly etched into his facial expressions, but she wasn't planning on going there. "Your boneheaded optimism astounds me, Noah."

"Uh, thanks..."

With that, the bell rang and Rachel was out of the classroom like a shot; Puck was left staring after her. He was still trying to process why on Earth she was calling him boneheaded, if she was the one so blatantly fucking McKinley's resident bitch and _still_ denying it. Only a bonehead would do _that_.

Rachel quickly scurried through the crowds, managing to avoid slushies and jocks in general (in case Puck was following her) and made it to her locker. She hadn't seen Finn all morning, either, and hoped she would be able to avoid him. He was what she was worried about as far as the rumours – she still hoped they were rumours – were concerned.

Santana appeared thirty seconds later, leaning against the cool metal of the lockers. Her hair was swept up into the impossibly high ponytail and she had her duffel bag swung over her shoulder and her arms folded over her chest. She took in a deep breath before uttering the famous last words. "We need to talk."

Rachel spun to face Santana, her eyes full of hurt. "W-what...?"

"I'm not breaking up with you," Santana added hastily, placing her hands on Rachel's shoulders, locking their eyes together. "Actually... we're not even together... are we? That's what I want to talk about, I guess." Her voice faltered on the last few words; Santana had never had the relationship talk. Ever. It sort of freaked her out, but seeing as Rachel usually had a plan for everything, it wouldn't be too hard. But the degree of honesty that was required to make this a justifiable two-way thing sort of made Santana want to curl into a ball and melt into the floor.

"Oh, thank goodness," Rachel let out a sigh of relief. "I was hoping we would." Rachel smiled and removed Santana's hands from her shoulder, giving each a squeeze before she let them drop back down to the Latina's sides.

"But, uh, Rach?"

"Yes, Santana?"

"Maybe we could go to Breadstix, seeing as you owe me at least one a day for the next month," Santana wiggled her eyebrows and gave her that crooked smile she loved.

"You can't hold me to that, Santana," Rachel hissed, closing her locker and falling into step with the Cheerio as the covertly made their way to the car park. "I was blatantly under the influence."

"Babe, I did all the giving. Of _course_ you owe me for the next month." Santana withered under the intense glare of her quasi-girlfriend. "Or at least just today..."

"That's more like it," Rachel replied. She resisted claiming Santana's mouth with her own right there and settled with giving her a bright, genuine smile instead. Santana returned it and reached out to pull Rachel into a hug.

"No, that's more like it."

* * *

"Quinn!" Brittany bounded over to her girlfriend and kissed her soundly by the shorter girl's locker. She wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her in closer. "I haven't seen you in forever," she breathed against Quinn's lips, as she pulled away.

"We saw each other an hour ago, babe," Quinn laughed, tightening her grip on Brittany, as pale blue melted into hazel. She loved Brittany's need for staying close to her. She felt like she had purpose, to protect Brittany from whatever she could. She would as long as Brittany would have her.

The girls separated from their tight embrace and moved to walk down the hallway. Quinn entwined her fingers with Brittany's and let herself be pulled along with Brittany's longer, more powerful stride.

"So, I was thinking, in Math, that we could go on a double date with Rachel and San!" Brittany enthused, "I was getting distracted, because I thought that my cat had stolen my notes... then I realised I never make any, and then I tried to do a quadratic equation and then I thought how awesome it would be if we all double dated."

"We can't Britt, they aren't out," Quinn sighed. She tugged a little on Brittany's hand, pulling her closer. She hated the disheartened look on Brittany's face, after she'd been denied. "Look, we just need to find a way to get them out, is all. Then I promise we can double date."

"Really?" Brittany's face lit up. "Thanks, Quinn." She placed a kiss on her girlfriend's lips and proceeded to pull Quinn through the corridors once again.

"Hold up," Quinn pulled Brittany into step with her; they were fixated on a point in the midst of the car park.

"Oh my God!" Brittany squealed; she clasped Quinn's hand tighter, buzzing with excitement. Santana and Rachel's quick hug in the car park was a sure sign of things to come, even if they were most likely going to be spending the afternoon... elsewhere. She didn't want to get into what elsewhere was, exactly, but she had an idea that it probably wasn't calculus or Spanish.

"That's it, Britt. We have to make a plan."

* * *

Breadstix was surprisingly empty in the middle of the day; that was, if you discounted the old people and notorious junkies shifting their eyes around the warm room, crunching away on free breadsticks, without a care in the world or an immediate link to their much-needed medication. Sure, maybe a lot of the junkies and old people milling around the place also served the food, but Santana knew that they'd pretty much take the shit she gave them and bend to her iron will with a quick snap of her fingers. By the time McKinley students were able to dine n' dash, most of these guys would passed out drooling in front of the TV, anyway.

Santana picked at her breadstick, as Rachel finished up her salad. She dreaded what was about to come. At least she wasn't at school and Cheerios practice wasn't scheduled for today. Something about Coach having to pre-record more hate messages – or, as Sue liked to phrase it, 'prime viewing material' – for WOHN.

Rachel pushed her plate of salad to the side, and gave met Santana's eyes with her own. She reached out and took the taller girl's hand in her own, hoping something would elicit a response from her.

"Santana, you were the one that suggested we talk," Rachel began. She had been thinking about this talk since the crack of dawn, but that didn't mean she was the one to initiate it. She almost had, if Santana hadn't mustered up the courage to ask _her_ if they should talk. Rachel's heart swelled at the thought of Santana contemplating a serious monogamous relationship with her, despite what their peers might have to say about it. The slushie moratorium was also very sweet, but the first thing was the cherry on the cake.

"I guess I just don't know where I stand. It feels weird... I've never had this talk before..."

"Oh." Rachel felt a little better that Santana hadn't had this frank emotional discussion with Brittany... it felt nice to be Santana's first for something, rather than the other way around. "So I guess I'll start?"

Santana merely nodded and gave Rachel a small smile. It was better than nothing; at least Santana didn't look as if she was on the verge of tears anymore.

"Have you still got feelings for Brittany?"

Santana was caught off guard with that one, no doubt about it. She furrowed her brow and tried to look deeper into sumptuous swirls of chocolate, but saw nothing more. Rachel was being completely open with her. She had just admitted her biggest fear, at that moment at least. Now, it was Santana's turn to be frank.

"Rachel, Brittany and I are best friends..." she let out a deep breath and kept her unwavering gaze on Rachel. She squeezed Rachel's hand and reached out for the other; she was more than aware that she sounded as if she was breaking up with Rachel for the second time in one day. "I'll always love her on some level, you know... but I'm not into her... not like I'm into you."

"Thank you for being honest," Rachel whispered; her voice was thick with emotion. "You don't know how good it feels not to be lied to, or cheated... I feel like, when I'm with you... you'll keep me safe and warm."

Santana smiled, swallowing the lump in her throat. Rachel leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, signalling her support. Being one that was always honest with her emotions, she had no real idea what it was like to keep everything so bottled up. She talked to her fathers about everything. She'd come to realise that this fact, due to the new direction (pardon the pun) her relationship with the Cheerio had taken, may not be the best thing in the world.

"Do you think this is based on sex?" Rachel mumbled. Santana might have missed it, had she not been blocking out the rest of the world and focusing solely on the petite diva sat in front of her.

"Baby, no... I mean, you're excellent..." Santana's eyes glazed over with her memories of their recent activities. "I think there's a lot more to us than just great sex."

"So... you'd be willing to try this out?" Rachel looked expectantly into Santana's eyes. This hadn't been the rocky road she'd been anticipating... it was quite wonderful.

"Definitely," Santana replied, leaning over and capturing Rachel's lips with hers. It was only a chaste kiss and didn't last as long as she'd had liked it; if they were at her empty mansion, they'd be half-naked and frenching already.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Am I supposed to?" Santana's answer came out a little abrupt; she was utterly engrossed in Rachel's eyes, lips and hair. You couldn't blame the girl for being a little pissed that she'd just been blown out of her reverie, even if said girl she was transfixed on was the one who did it.

Rachel let out a giggle, and leaned in closer. "Not unless you really want to." The girls continued to stare into one another's eyes until Santana finally pegged that there was in fact something that she should be asking Rachel.

Finally, the penny dropped. "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

Rachel pulled back and folded her arms across her chest. "I expect something slightly more romantic, Lopez, or _you're_ paying."

Santana laughed and shook her head at the girl. "Fine... Rachel Barbra Berry, would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?"

"Of course," Rachel replied. They girls kissed again; it was a little more heated than usual, but it wasn't as direct as all the others. This wasn't just sex anymore – it was a proper relationship. All that mattered to one another, was that they had each other, and that they would keep each other safe.

No sooner had they acquired the bill and left a twenty to cover their short meal, the girls were walking steadily through the mall, hand in hand. They were being given disbelieving looks by some of the other mall-goers, but that was only to be expected in such a small town. Lima would probably be the capital of conservatism if somebody nuked Sarah Palin and Texas.

"That was really romantic, you know," Rachel sighed dreamily, resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Good thing I did, 'cause I left my purse at home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Quinn's ceremonious plan to out Rachel and Santana comes to a head, and a few home truths will be revealed...**

**Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?**

**A/N: Lots of drama for you, today. I hope it makes up for the fact I might not be updating for a while longer than I have been, because I had an epiphany while writing this and the next three chapters will be in the process of gestating, considering they are only in the embryonic stage now.**

**A/N 2: Sorry if the editing's crappy, I stayed up 'til 2am to get this done.**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

"Morning," Rachel said, kissing Santana lightly on the lips. She handed her girlfriend a glass of orange juice and pulled out a chair for her, where a plate of toast had been set out. Santana wasn't a morning person, she'd found, so she tried to be as good as she could be for her.

What freaked her out more than Rachel's disturbing peppiness, was that they were at her house and Rachel had gone through her kitchen and even _cleaned_ it. It was spotless. Plus, there was a plate of waffles on the table and a bowl of fruit. She'd even made coffee... yeah, Santana could get used to this.

"I don't know how you lived like this," Rachel said, setting down some maple syrup on the table, "It was utterly deplorable."

"Puck's mom always made me dinner," she shrugged. Yeah, Mrs. Puckerman was cool. She never knew about her and Puck's arrangement, but she knew Santana's family well enough – she and Mrs. Lopez went to high school together and caught up whenever they could – to know that they couldn't _always_ be there for Santana.

Santana smiled as she sat down, and took a large gulp of her coffee. It was Friday; that was one thing, at least, to be smiley about. She'd spent the night with Rachel, seeing as her parents were still away and Rachel had put on her best pout and requested that she stay over at a friend's house to study. Yeah; studying Santana's anatomy. But they didn't need to know that.

"How are you so frickin' happy at this time in the morning?"

"How are you not?" Rachel countered. She gestured out the large windows and introduced Santana to the soft accents of the morning sun causing the dew to sparkle upon blades of still grass. The sky was a pale blue, building up to the full colour she had no doubt it would be by lunchtime, and the moon could be faintly seen, just beginning to be hidden by the glare of the sun. Six-fifty AM was a spectacular time to be awake.

"That's pretty, but I'm kinda tired out," Santana yawned.

"You'll be fine," Rachel assured Santana, taking the seat opposite at the table, bringing with her a bowl of muesli drenched in what Santana could only assume to be soy milk. She loved Rachel and all, but the veganism was still a little alien to her. Why the fuck wouldn't you want to eat a dead cow? It tasted great, especially if it was still bleeding.

"Look, I was meaning to ask you yesterday, but... what are we going to do when we get to school?"

"As in us?"

"No, as in our Spanish homework," Santana retorted. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, trying to pull the sleep out of them. Yeah. "Sorry. Still waking up, here."

"Hmmm... I think we can get through one day, right?" Rachel ignored the jibe and kept to the topic at hand, knowing getting offended would only worsen Santana's mood. "Maybe we should come out on Monday, give ourselves the weekend to tell our parents and for ourselves."

"That sounds good..." Santana smiled devilishly and took a look at the kitsch clock on the wall, "Now, we have an hour before we have to go anywhere..." Santana got out of her seat and moved to straddle Rachel in her seat. "I suggest we make good use of this time, no?"

Rachel moaned and leant back, giving Santana the full expanse of her neck as the Latina trailed kisses up the column of her throat, up to that pulse spot near her ear and finally down her jaw, before smashing their lips together in a passionate embrace. The fruity lip gloss Rachel decided to wear today, and yesterday, was like crack to Santana; as if the rest of Rachel's body wasn't. She needed her fix desperately.

Their tongues battled for dominance, as hands roamed up and down the other's body, pulling one another impossibly closer. Rachel fisted Santana's hair and deepened the kiss and pushed the chair back a little, hoping to get away from the table. Yes, she was about to get laid, but she wasn't going to be cleaning up a mess in a pristine kitchen afterwards – if they had any time for that afterwards.

* * *

"Hey, Q..." Puck caught Quinn's arm as she walked past his locker. "D'you know anything about Berry and S?"

"Why?" she narrowed her eyes at him. She was not going to help him enlist those two to live out any of his fantasies, no way. Quinn, however, found herself fascinated with possible plan enhancements, should he decide to want to 'help' outing the two in his own, unique way.

"'Cause you and B are like best friends with her, I kinda thought you'd know about things."

Quinn shifted her eyes, scanning the corridor for potential eavesdroppers. The walls had ears. Quinn grabbed Puck's arm and dragged him to the nearest classroom, locking the door behind them and shoved him into a chair.

"They left school at lunch yesterday, B and I saw them," Quinn told him, in a hushed tone. Why she whispered, even though they were completely alone, she had no idea. "I'm pretty sure they're dating, but they won't admit it."

"Aw, I was sorta hoping it was just sex," Puck groaned, slouching his shoulders and scuffing his feet on the floor, "Now I've lost, like both of my most reliable fuck-buddies, man."

"Not the point, Puck!"

"Alright, baby mama," Puck retorted, holding his hands up in surrender, "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Quinn huffed in frustration. After counting _slowly_ to ten to keep from lashing out at the man-child before her, she continued. "So, I have devised a plan in order to get them out of the closet."

"Unless you're all going to be full-on making out in nothing but panties for my personal viewing pleasure, I want nothing to do with it," Puck smirked. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to figure out Quinn's angle.

"Oh yeah? Well what if I told you I bet you one hundred dollars that I get them to come out before the end of today." Quinn loved a challenge, and she knew Puck did, too; particularly where there were lesbians involved.

Puck looked to Quinn, incredulously. Was she for real? Maybe there were still some baby hormones in her system, or something. "One hundred bucks? You're insane."

"I didn't have you pegged as a chicken, Puckerman," Quinn jibed.

"Not a chicken. Just broke," he countered. "But I have a better deal for you," he went on, sitting up in his chair and bringing his face to hers.

Quinn watched him intently. She didn't at all like the lecherous gleam in his eyes as he cleared his throat, clearly as if he'd worked out the meaning to life. "Go on..."

"If you don't get them out by the end of the day, you and Britt are having that threesome with me." He stifled a laugh at the sight of her utterly repulsed face. "And if you do, then I go home alone."

"I'm gay, Puck." Quinn pointed out. "Remember that whole 'Brittany and I are _dating_' thing?"

"So? Brittany's cool with whatever," he smirked. "A deal's a deal, right Fabray?" He had her hooked now. Quinn wouldn't be able to back out of a challenge. And now, Puck knew there was going to be a fierce showdown in which hot gay cheerleaders started fighting about a sneaky-hot diva. And of course, Brittany would be trying to break it up. _Score and score_.

"Fine," Quinn grumbled, gritting her teeth. She spun on her heels and stalked back down the corridor before she could punch the smug expression off Puck's face.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Quinn," Rachel chirped, as she entered the cafeteria. She had entered only to pick up some bottles of water and maybe a fruit parfait for Santana, because she'd been a little down since she'd gotten back from her house this morning. Rachel hadn't pressed her girlfriend for details, seeing as she seemed angry about it and would really rather not worsen that – and she was confident that Santana would tell her later (around now). "What can I... Quinn?"

Quinn stood before Rachel, grinning wickedly. The slushie in her right hand was ice cold - the perfect temperature. Her left hand was placed firmly on her hip; it was her classic pre-babygate bitch stance, raised from its grave. "Berry."

"I... I... I thought you said there wasn't... slushies..." Rachel was physically scared, now. She had gone almost a full year without being hit with one of those icy maces. She didn't think to plan for a revolt – no change of clothes – she couldn't even have predicted that Quinn would regress so far back into her former self that she would gladly skewer their gradual friendship and put it on a silver platter for everybody to ogle and debase, too.

"Things change, huh, Berry?" Quinn smirked, quirking an eyebrow at Rachel. She desperately hoped that Rachel would get up and out herself and Santana already, because she was already feeling the burden of guilt crushing her shoulders as Rachel's eyes filled with tears. She would have to go through with it if _they_ didn't.

Quinn glanced over Rachel's shoulder to a little way across the hall and saw Santana and Brittany entering through the double doors, splitting a crowd of fascinated freshmen like the red sea with little more than their presence. Perfect. A small audience had already gathered for the occasion, and Santana was just in time for the matinee.

She locked eyes with Santana and immediately, she readied herself for the wrath of the Latina.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Santana roared as soon as her eyes caught and analysed the scene, making her way through the crowd – or the gap they had left in the middle of fearing for their lives, or at least their faces – towards Quinn and Rachel.

Santana was aghast that Quinn would even entertain such a despicable idea, and in front of the whole school. Jeering jocks and the rest of the cheerleading squad looked on from their tables, as all the other kids did. Thousands of beady eyes (and a few new-fangled camera phones) were keenly watching the drama unfold; not that drama was anything new to come to McKinley.

"What does it look like, S?" Quinn replied, straightening her stance and lifting her chin. She tightened her grip on the slushie. She was glad that with Santana's arrival, she could more or less take her eyes away from Rachel's heartbroken ones.

"It looks like you're about to get your ass kicked in front of the whole school again, Fabray," Santana snarled. She placed herself in between Rachel and Quinn, making damn sure that Rachel wouldn't be hit. A quick look in the cup told Santana that Quinn was about to toss a blueberry slushie on her girl. Blueberry. The hell was Quinn going to throw blueberry on Rachel! First off, it was her least favourite flavour and second; it was by far the stickiest and most congealing of all the frozen hellfire that McKinley stocked.

"Yeah," Quinn scoffed. "Why is that?"

"You said there was a moratorium on people slushying Rachel!" Santana bit back, advancing on the cheerleader. Quinn took a step back, encouraging her forward. Kids edged back on their seats as they watched the pre-smackdown terror. The smackdown itself would be known as World War Four.

Looking into Quinn's eyes; she knew what this was. _Shit_. _Fucking Fabray, trying to get all up in mine and Rachel's business; who the fuck does she think she is? I'll take that fucking slushie and then give her a freakin' patriotic wedgie if I have to. Rachel said Monday. We'll be out on Monday._ Santana, however, _knew_ that in her heart of hearts that she was about to be outed in front of the whole school. She didn't mind so much about that part, but it was Rachel who had suggested they wait. Well, it was that and the fact Quinn couldn't keep from trying to fuck up her life that pissed her off.

"Yeah well, I'm the head cheerleader," Quinn haughtily informed the fuming Latina. "And what are you? You're just a pitiful reject along with the rest of the bottom tier."

In frustration, Santana pulled the cup of frozen corn syrup from Quinn's hand and forcefully hurled it to the ground, eliciting a gasp from the crowd (and Rachel) and a dry laugh from Quinn. The contents of the cup had leapt across the faded white linoleum of the floor and hit a few who had been lucky enough for front row seats. Nobody complained, though; they didn't want the two conflicting Cheerios' anger directed at them.

"Temper, temper, Santana; now, kindly tell me why you've stepped in to defend Rachel oh so _valiantly_," Quinn continued, continuing to butter Santana up for the big roast. It was cruel, but it had to be done. She was _not_ having a threesome with Noah Puckerman, if last time was anything to go by.

Santana let herself calm down, as the two continued to stare at each other. She bit her bottom lip, and turned back to Rachel, who was still shell-shocked. Her eyes were wide and her jaw was hanging slightly open, as she looked around the room. Everything was still pretty much silent and it scared her. The only thing that was ever this quiet, was when she would help herself to the facilities of the auditorium to think, rather than to polish off her talents.

Rachel took a step forward, and laced Santana's fingers together with hers. Santana pecked Rachel on the cheek and turned back to Quinn. "Is this what you wanted, Q?"

"Yes, and I'm happy for you both." Quinn looked around to the awe-struck audience, "Nothing to see here, people!"

"So, can we have that double date now?" Brittany chimed in, beaming. She crushed Rachel and Santana with a hug, before dragging Quinn in, too.

"Q? Double date?"

"Brittany's idea," she replied, tightening her grip in the hug.

"You guys are _so_ gay, even for me," Kurt quipped, as he walked past.

* * *

Santana, as happy as she was that she and Rachel were out (a few days earlier than usual, yes, but nonetheless, Rachel was happy and therefore Santana was, too), was still worrying about Finn. His reaction was the one she was worried about the most, for obvious reasons, and she was pretty sure that him having to spend all day in the emergency room for getting an eraser stuck in his ear during first period (how?) caused her to think (briefly) that yes, there may be a God. But she didn't bet on it.

They walked in silence to the car park, after Santana had met Rachel at her at her English class and walked her to her car. They held hands, and they kissed, and Santana glowered at freshmen who even dared to think they could spit out some offhand comment about their relationship. There was a whole wide world outside of McKinley High, and it wasn't going to welcome their love with open arms. Conservative Ol' Lima wouldn't be having any of their 'sin'.

"Santana, what's bugging you?"

The soft tone of Rachel's voice caught Santana off guard, as they slipped into the Latina's car, "Nothing." Santana looked to Rachel smiling – though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "Rachel..."

"Is it that Quinn outed us today, rather than us coming out on Monday?"

"No," Santana replied, her voice thick with emotion. She shook off the fact that Rachel had just interrupted her, but it was unimportant in the grander scheme of things. "Look, Rach," she said, placing her hand on Rachel's on the diva's lap, assuring her that what she was about to tell her girlfriend was serious, "I really need to talk to you about something when we get back to mine, okay?"

Rachel met Santana's eyes with hers, and only nodded in response. Santana leaned over and pressed her lips to Rachel's, in a soft, chaste kiss. She reasoned that it would probably be the last she'd get before she broke the girl's heart and shattered not even twenty-four hours of perhaps the healthiest relationship she'd ever been in.

Santana removed her hand from Rachel's reluctantly, starting the car, and driving them home. Santana still shivered at the thought that she was actually heavily invested in a relationship with somebody that reciprocated just how important it was to them.

In the vast Lopez household (_please_, you could probably get three lots of land in Rachel's neighbourhood fitted into what Santana knew as home), every single one of the curtains were shut tightly, and the front door was left slightly ajar.

"Shit!" Santana jumped out of the car, throwing her keys to Rachel to lock it as she sprinted towards her home. Burglars? Had she forgotten to lock the door behind her and Rachel this morning? That still didn't explain why the curtains were shut tightly. And besides, if it was burglars, wouldn't her windows be broken? Plus, the gates would probably need replacing, seeing as the only way to get past them without the security code meant driving a reinforced truck (or blowing them up). But she'd know about that if it were true.

Rachel quickly locked the car and ran as fast as her legs could carry her; she was sure Santana had locked up after them that morning, and the only curtains that had been shut (and would probably remain shut) were the ones in Santana's bedroom, for the fact that the girls were usually so preoccupied with each other that they forgot to shut curtains and the like.

She neared the door, and all she heard was frenzied screaming in Spanish coming from the living room; Rachel ran into the room to make sure nothing had happened to Santana – she couldn't tell which voice was Santana's from the two female contraltos cracking through the room – and _really_ wished she hadn't.

Stood there, was Santana's mother dressed in an all too revealing negligee. On the couch behind her, was a skinny-built young man with sandy-blonde hair, wearing a pair of what she assumed would be expensive silk boxers. This man was most definitely _not_ Santana's father.

The three froze and stared at Rachel. Santana's face was bright red with embarrassment and rage; Santana's mother was also coloured a gaudy shade of red, but she could assume that the older Latina was solely embarrassed by the situation. However, the sandy-blonde-haired man on the couch looked devoid of all skin pigmentation and autonomous bodily function as the scene panned out.

"Who is this?" Santana's mother gestured to Rachel. She looked down on the diva, clearly unimpressed with her presence _and_ her sweater.

"Mama, this is Rachel," Santana replied. Her voice was unusually obedient and calm. "Rachel... my mama, Carla..."

Rachel gave a curt nod in return. "Should I leave?" she offered weakly, twining her hands together to keep from fiddling.

"Yes," Carla hissed, "You've seen quite enough."

"Just go wait in my room, Rach," Santana said, motioning with her head for the girl to get the fuck out of there as fast as she could. As soon as the living room door had been pulled to, Santana advanced towards her mother, keeping her tone hushed. "I think _he's_ the one who should be getting out of here."

"You think I was going to hide him in the closet?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Santana yelled. She moved aside her mother and sneered down to the quivering man on the couch, "Do you know she's fucking married? Did you know that she has a daughter?"

He shook his head frantically, "No, I swear... I just... I don't know..." He promptly burst into tears. His face was suddenly burning red as the salty tears marred his previously stoic face. Well, it was either stoic or something akin to constipation.

Santana grabbed the man and his clothes from the floor and dragged them out of the room. She ignored her mother's protests and the man's cries. "Get dressed," she yelled, unable to keep the tears from flowing now. Her family had just been torn apart, utterly. The texts and the postcards she sometimes found were easy to deal with – it was just writing, easy to discard and forget about so she wouldn't have to tell her father that her mother was nothing more than a lonely housewife who whored herself out on 'business trips'. Now she had physical evidence and a little more psychological trauma to go with it, Santana was basically obliged to tell her father what had happened.

It was going to kill her to see his heart break with her words. Even if it wasn't her fault, she would fell overwhelmed with guilt for it. Her father, despite his absences and their awkward relationship, had been without a doubt the better parent and her rock. He made it to her cheering competitions and despite missing Sectionals last year, made a point to make it to Regionals. When they didn't win, he hugged Santana as she shed a few tears when she told him that Glee club was more than likely going to be disbanded. He held her and shushed away her fears, unlike her alcoholic, self-important mother. And that was being polite.

The man had finished dressing into his dapper suit; if it wasn't for his puny frame being wracked by sobs, he'd not have looked half bad. She could see why her mother had went for him, though; he was the complete opposite of Rafael Lopez in every way imaginable.

"Get out," Santana ordered the man. When he made no motion to leave – he was still staring back into the living room, watching as Carla sat on the couch holding her head in her hands, trying to get a footing on the situation she'd just landed her family in – Santana grabbed a fistful of Armani shirt and hauled it to the door.

She pulled the tall white door open and let go of the man, but he didn't go very far; he tumbled into the large build of Santana's father.

* * *

Santana had been an awfully long time downstairs; Rachel checked her watch and clarified that it had now been twenty minutes since Santana sent her up here. She'd heard yelling and screaming – all in English – but it was muffled, considering the distance between Santana's room and the downstairs living room. Rachel thought about maybe hiding near the stairs to get a better listen as to what was going on, but Santana had asked that she wait in her room, so she did. This wasn't Rachel's choice to make and she would respect that. But that didn't mean she wouldn't be asking questions later on.

Also, it certainly wasn't the way she had intended on meeting the first of her in-laws. But then, today hadn't exactly been about what was to be expected.

She only hoped that Santana's father wasn't to find out about any of this. No doubt that he would, considering the amount of things that Santana had told Rachel about how she admired her father and looked up to him, even though he wasn't always around. She loved his tough work ethic, his take-no-prisoners attitude (no surprises who she took after, then), but most of all, she loved her father's insistence that he do his best for his family, for those he loved, even if he couldn't in the end. Santana tried to model herself to that particular trait of Rafael's the most, and Rachel was her proof.

Suddenly, the door burst open and slammed shut just as quickly behind a crying Santana. The girl was a mess. Rachel opened her arms and allowed Santana to fall onto her, cradling her as she cried.

"Baby," Rachel whispered, brushing a few tendrils of hair out of Santana's tear-stained face, "What happened?"

"My Dad... my Dad knows..." she choked, "My family... it's gone..."

Rachel held her girlfriend tighter. "San, I'm here," she soothed, planting a kiss on the taller girl's temple. "Is he... okay?"

"No," Santana yelled, pulling herself out of Rachel's grip. She swiped at the tears on her face and knelt before Rachel. She burst into tears again, but this time, she steadied herself by resting her hands on Rachel's thighs.

"Shit, Rach, everything's gone to shit today," she sniffed. "Absolutely fucking _everything_."

"Tell me, San, don't keep me on the outside," Rachel placed her hands over Santana's. She watched as the tears descended again, falling onto the rocket red skirt, marring it with her tears.

"Well, I don't care so much about Quinn outing us... But here, now; my mom fucking around with some pathetic kid, it just... God, it got in the way of... I had to tell you about Finn and I..." Santana's mouth went dry as she realised what she had just said.

Rachel rolled off the bed, pushing Santana away from her. She stood a metre away from the bed and stared into Santana's teary eyes. "You and Finn? We haven't even been dating twenty-four hours and you _cheated_?"

"No! I never cheated!" Santana got off the bed to try and reach Rachel, but the shorter girl held up her hands to keep Santana at a safe distance. Santana didn't try to push and shrugged out a breath. "Last year, when he told you we never had sex... he lied."

Rachel's face shot up at Santana's words. She clenched her jaw, but that didn't stop her own fat tears rolling down her face. She stared at Santana, who had stopped crying due to the shock and well... the shitstorm that this was.

"Goodbye, Santana." With those two words, like a blade to Santana's withering heart, Rachel ended their conversation. And with her five steps out of Santana's room, Rachel ended their very beginning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T**

**Summary:**

**Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?**

**A/N: Alrighty... this chapter is a monster. Eleven pages long. I went a little crazy while writing this, and I guess that I wanted to draw it right out. But hey, I hope it's as good as I think last chapter was. For everyone who favourited this or wrote me a review for last chapter, thank you so much :) I guess that the last chapter needed to be a bit dark, because I kind of thought that it was a bit too fluffy and I don't think I write fluff the best. But I'm working on it.**

**I hope it doesn't disappoint. :)**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

_Rafael Lopez slammed the car door shut, with finality, and locked the car. He could pick up his cases later; all they were full of were papers and maybe a couple of changes of clothes – both of which weren't as important as seeing his daughter. What was better yet, was that the fact her car was in its' usual spot in the driveway meant she was home and he could scoop her up into a monster hug as soon as he laid his eyes on her._

_He hadn't seen her in a week. He called when he could, sure, but that wasn't the point. He had missed seven more days of her life because of his job, which he kept up with because it was the best way for her to get out of Lima and have a generally better life. His presence in it, however, would never be a given. _

_He was never usually gone for a week. The average length of one of his trips was maybe three days, but nothing more, which Rafael was glad of. But this time, he had to stay for a goddamn week because he was running a bunch of lectures, rather than sitting through them. He received a fat pay packet for his troubles, half of which he'd pour into Santana's college fund. She could get out of this town, without a doubt. She was on the honour roll, she was in the cheerleading squad and she was in the Glee Club. She had a shot with either an academic future, on in sport, or one in music. As long as she was happy, he was happy. He couldn't ask any more of her._

_More important than the money still, was that the blasted conference had ended one whole day earlier than scheduled, thank goodness; he was originally due back tomorrow, the same day his wife was back from her conference in Atlanta. At least now, he could spend some quality time with his daughter and ask her if she remembered how her grandmother made her quesadillas so he could make some for his girls._

_He pulled his keys out of his pocket and reached to unlock the tall white doors that opened up into the large hallway, but oddly enough, the door was unlocked. He pulled the handle down, but it was ripped from his hands and in a split second – and then a body was thrust onto him._

_He shoved the man off of him with ease; Rafael was a broadly built man of six feet and three inches, and as he got a look at the man who had crumpled to the ground with the force of his large hands, he reckoned that the unexpected visitor was around five eleven and had the bone structure of a pre-teen._

_But all he saw was his daughter's tear stained face staring in absolute shock and fear at him, at the fact she'd just shoved some random boy – who had better not have been pressuring her – into her father's arms._

_"Mija, what's wrong?" he questioned, taking her stiffened stature into his arms, soothing her._

_Santana said nothing, and buried her head into his chest. Rafael placed a kiss on the top of her head, before turning back to see the man, who was nursing a nose bleed from the force his face hit the floor of the porch. He released Santana from his arms and grabbed a hold of the puny man._

"_Has he hurt you, mija?" he asked, thrusting the man back into the house and slamming the door behind him. "Look at me, Santana," he ordered. He held the sandy-haired man by the collar of his fruity shirt, wondering why the hell he was in the house with his daughter. __**Alone**__._

"_Did you touch her, huh?" he roared, shaking the man. "Tell me!"_

"_No, papa," Santana finally answered, sniffling. "He... he..."_

"_So if you didn't bring him home yourself, how did he get in my house?" Rafael felt himself losing touch with his usually calm demeanour, now. He fisted the man's shirt tighter, trying to subside some of the tension building up within his fists. He wasn't above physically beating this man into the ground if he really, really had to._

"_I found him with mama, okay? There; now you know!" Santana began sobbing again, and pointed a hand to the living room. Rafael dropped the man in his hands and moved into the living room._

_What he saw, he wished he didn't. He found his wife crouched over on the couch by the window, holding her head in her hands, wearing the negligee he'd bought her last year, as a surprise, while Santana was away at her cheerleading camp. And now, he'd found that some other man – if he was the only one – had been enjoying it. _

_What sent him reeling the most, though, was that Carla was most definitely not wearing her wedding ring. If you really looked, like his seasoned eyes did, you could notice a faint tan line where she'd kept the golden band on at least while she was in her husband's presence and evidently, where she took it off when she was away or had a guest to entertain._

"_Santana," he called through to the hall, turning to see his daughter. "Show our guest out and go to your room." If he and his wife were going to yell, Santana was not going to see it._

"_But papa-"_

"_Do it, Santana."_

_He listened as Santana spoke softly to the man to leave, the door clicked shut and then her tennis shoes squeaked against the polished wood of their stairs as she retreated to her bedroom._

"_What the hell do you think you were doing? Am I not enough for you, huh, Carla? Does seventeen years of marriage and a daughter mean absolutely nothing to you?"_

"_Shut up!" she shrieked, jumping up from the couch. She rounded the living room and stood opposite Rafael, the coffee table littered with their family ornaments the only thing between them._

"_Is it the work hours? I know, I work a lot," Carla scoffed at his words. He ignored her, and continued, "But you know why I do. I do it for her."_

"_You know, we were only young when you got pregnant; only two months out of college, we were. A month and a half later, we were married in the cathedral, at the insistence of your parents. I didn't care; I loved you, and sure, life was going to be harder because we had a baby to raise, but we managed. After Santana was born, I suggested we move away... you didn't feel the same. It was strange that you wanted to pursue a life in this town that you left to get a college education for, but I didn't question it. I worked hard to put bread on the table and clothes on her back, so we could buy this house that you'd fallen in love with. I guess that I couldn't try to convince you again after we found out your Mama was sick. If I'd known that she was going to last six years with that tumour, maybe I should have tried harder to get you to uproot her and your father and get that place in Sacramento that I'd seen all those time's I'd been away to work. But no; Lima was your home and it was where we were going to stay. Our heritage was here, so Santana would stay here..."_

"_You encouraged me to take the big-shot job, even if it meant I'd be away. That was six years ago. You started working for the firm five years ago... I don't want to know if that was when you started defiling our marriage, because it... it makes me sick, Carla."_

"_Sarah Puckerman ended up spending more time with our daughter because we were so wrapped up in working for her!" Rafael's booming voice caught Carla off guard, causing her to jump up off the couch she'd sat on_

"_I was trying to, Raf, please... don't end us like this..."_

"_Quiet!" he snapped, "Sarah Puckerman was there for her, when we couldn't, which was a hell of a lot more than I'd care to admit, and I bet she still is. And then, when she got to High School, then you guys started getting at each other's throat. Did you feel threatened by Sarah's presence in her life? Was that the problem?"_

"_She was difficult! Nothing was good enough for her anymore!"_

"_Don't blame her for you being a whore!" Rafael bellowed. He took in a deep breath before going on. "You just became wrapped up in yourself. I don't want to know when you started screwing other men behind my back. That's in the past. The only thing that matters is that we try not to fuck our daughter's life up more than we already have."_

"_I'm so, so, sorry," Carla wept. "Rafael, can't we just talk about this... rationally?"_

"_We have," he spat, "And now, I think you should leave."_

_She looked up at him, seeing the conviction in his eyes. "You can't throw me out, where the hell am I going to go?"_

"_Go to one of your friends' house, or your father's house, but you're not staying here." _

"_Don't be ridiculous, Rafael," she snapped, "You can't throw me out. What about Santana?"_

"_We'll talk to her after we've had time apart," he growled, "But for now, I suggest you leave, Carla."_

* * *

Rachel just kept on walking as soon as she'd shown herself out of the Lopez residence and rounded the corner of her street. It was easy to slip out of the house, considering that the shouting was cacophonous duet between a thunderous male baritone as well as Carla Lopez's shrill contralto that wouldn't end, even if the house was falling down.

The door clicked softly shut behind her, but resonated through her mind, as if it were actually the sound of a gun going off again and again.

She couldn't stop her feet from pulling her forward, further down the street, past the rows of vast mansions and cast iron gates embellished with golden symbols.

For autumn, the air sure was stifling; it was a formidable partner for the deafening silence laying into her from all corners. It was screaming at her, almost more so than her inner voice shrieking and yelling at her to go back to Santana. But she couldn't. Rachel had to think about this; she had to mull it over, even for a second. Right now, all she was doing was trying to find a nice, public place so she wouldn't try to strangle herself with her own hair for being such an_ idiot_.

The only sound in the air was that of her feet against the paving stones, hardly offering a break from the fallout of the proverbial A-bomb that had just gone off. Her mind was racing; what the actual _fuck_ had she just done?

She'd just deserted Santana, broken home and all, alone in her room, crying like nothing she'd ever seen in her life – and she'd heard about what Sue Sylvester could reduce one to – and for what? For Santana honest with her girlfriend about something that would have to be said one day? For Santana telling Rachel something that she knew unless she got it off her chest, their relationship would be a lie? Well, not a lie... but still, Santana knew she'd have been keeping something from Rachel, and when one was in a relationship one didn't keep secrets from their other half.

Rachel kept on walking for what may as well have been years, until she came across a diner filled with twenty-somethings and truckers, with classic rock roaring out of large speakers in the corner. She didn't care that it smelled like stale bacon, or that wandering eyes were basically scraping across her almost-shaking form as she walked hastily to the bathroom, and locked herself in the stall furthest away from the door.

She sank down to the floor, crying hard. She shoved her fist into her mouth and bit down, to try and take away from the guilt that was ripping her apart inside.

Santana had slept with Finn last year. Finn had been the one to lie to her. Finn had been the one to keep it from her. What had Santana done? Nothing that could amount to Rachel basically kicking her in the teeth several times with shoes made of broken glass and concrete.

All Santana had done was accost a single man because somebody told her to, and take his virginity. I mean, she asked a question. It wasn't like she forced him into bed. And all Rachel could think of, as the words _accidentally_ fell out of her girlfriend's mouth as she cried over her parents' marriage disintegrating, was herself.

There wasn't an excuse for what Rachel, thought, or said, or did – it was about the most despicable thing she'd ever done in her entire life, and she'd done some pretty questionable things, but that was for another time.

Sure, Santana had been mean to her over the years, but you'd soon find that that was just Santana being Santana. She usually spoke her mind, which was refreshing, seeing as she spent most of her time around people that couldn't pull off even pretending that they liked her. And now, Santana was in a committed relationship with her and wasn't even pissed that they'd been outed and she wasn't pissed that they were basically signing themselves up for ridicule by being openly gay in a town like Lima.

I mean, she'd even forgiven _Quinn_ for what she'd done. Quinn, the one who led the crusades to humiliate Rachel in any way possible, the one who still brushed off offers of friendship time after time; and yet, Santana, the one who was only ever a subordinate to the Devil incarnate before she grew a heart, was apparently the committer of an absolutely unforgivable crime against all of nature's laws and deserved to be dropped like she had some kind of disease.

Yeah, Rachel felt on top of the freaking world right now. She couldn't even bring herself to think of how Santana was feeling right now, because that, _that_ was nothing short of purgatory.

* * *

Santana just lay on her bed, staring at the door. It had been ten minutes since Rachel had walked out, but it felt like she'd been rotting away there for a decade. She placed the girl's phone – which she'd left on the comforter – in the top drawer of her bedside table. She couldn't bear to look at it, because it was hers. It was also useless. Now, Santana couldn't even call her girlfriend, and her girlfriend couldn't call her.

The past three days of her life had been what Heaven must have been like; if she thought Heaven was real. You went to Heaven after you went to purgatory, not the other way around. Heaven was the final place that you were absolved of your sins, her mother and grandfather told her. It was what the priest in the cathedral told her.

It wasn't what she told herself. When Santana hurt somebody, all she saw was the hurt in the eyes of her victim. She didn't think of what some jealous upstart in the clouds thought, because that wasn't what was right in front of her. That wasn't directly affected by what she did. The kids she'd slushied and ordered other people to slushie was the only thing she had to try and live with.

The look on Rachel's face, when she told her she'd slept with Finn, though, that made her feel sick to her stomach. She had no idea how this one was going to fix itself.

She and Rachel hadn't even been together for one day. Maybe she should have told Rachel during their impromptu lunch at Breadstix? No. That would have been exponentially worse than it just slipping out.

Breadstix was a public place and there were people. Rachel would have been essentially humiliated _again_ by somebody who had proven themselves to be above making her life hell. Finn had hurt her more than enough and honestly; Santana didn't want to be a reminder of that utter train wreck of a 'relationship' for Rachel. She wanted to make Rachel happy so she could make herself happy. She wanted to take pride in being Rachel's one and only, because, hell; the girl deserved it. Even now, she deserved it.

And to be honest, Santana was more concerned with working out what the best fuck of her life actually was to her, considering that her feelings weren't fleeting, like they were with about everyone else. She was more concerned with the present; it was all she had, seeing as her future was a given thanks to the almost obligatory scholarships thrown around by Sue Sylvester for her crème de la crop.

Her past wasn't something she was particularly interested in thinking about, either. The first time she found out about her mother's infidelity wasn't a particularly peachy moment for her, it had to be said.

She remembered the moment one night, maybe a few weeks after she'd begun high school, was when she found the very _specific_ text from a man she'd met from her mother's workplace six months before. He was a young man, who had a promising career in front of him at her mother's business, and apparently, her mother was the one to catapult him to those new heights – in one way or another.

She remembered trying to lie her way out of the situation, after her mother found her gawping at a frank description of what they were going to do while she was at a 'conference' with handcuffs and a fondue.

Her mother made her swear on her grave that she wouldn't breathe a word of what she'd just seen – and scarred her mind with – to her oblivious father. She agreed, nothing less than absolutely terrified of what would happen if she was to disobey her mother. Would she yell louder at Santana? Would she lash out at her?

She would nod her head and she would suppress the guilt, as soon as her Dad returned home and insisted on cooking something for the both of them, and then cracked a couple of awful jokes he'd picked up from the stuffed shirts at the lectures. Santana would laugh along with him, and listen to the stories about things that she didn't totally understand or necessarily care about, but the thought of him being happy that she was all of a sudden taking an interest in his line of work took away from the fact that she knew something that he didn't. He shouldn't. _She shouldn't_.

Her mother would smile away, like there was nothing inherently wrong about the way she'd tell him that the next day, she would be getting home a little later on because of stock taking.

After six months, though, her mother's conferences became either more frequent or longer, and the texts and even postcards (apparently she had a thing for foreigners of the less intelligent variety) were just cast aside. Santana said nothing. And so life continued.

And now, her father knew. And Rachel was gone. She couldn't do much about the first part, but she could do something about the distinct lack of her girlfriend in her life right now. Lethargically, Santana moved from the bed and pulled out, from the top drawer in her dresser, the _Wicked_ shirt she'd filched from Rachel's room and shrugged it on with a pair of sleep shorts, after peeling off her Cheerios uniform. She curled back up on the bed and the tears cascaded down her face once more, as she took in Rachel's light, fruity scent. Her tears stained it, the salt mingling with accents of strawberry and vanilla.

The sound of shouting had subsided from downstairs, but a few doors slammed; and then there was nothing.

* * *

Rachel dabbed the wet tissue against the lacerations on her hand, hissing as the stings shot up her arm. They weren't deep, but there were a lot of them, and there was a lot of bleeding. Not enough to make her feel dizzy, but enough to know what there'd be substantial scabbing that she would have to explain away.

She'd picked most of the glass out of them by now, and had used up a lot of tissue trying to stem the bleeding, and she'd largely succeeded, but it was painful.

She didn't realise what was sadder about this evening; Santana's personal life being torn limb from limb and burned, the fact Rachel had left her, that she ran to a greasy diner and cried in a dirty bathroom stall or actually punched a fucking mirror without thinking that yes, it would cause some damage.

After she picked herself up from the floor of the stall, Rachel had run some water and splashed some on her face, before taking a good long look at herself in the mirror. It wasn't long before she couldn't stand the sight of what she'd seen and thrown a punch at her reflection.

It sickened her. The last time she'd physically lashed out was when she found out that Finn had lied to her – surprise, surprise – and she never really felt it had done her much good. Her words were more important. She could bitchslap the high school's oh so revered Quarterback with a few four-syllabled words and a world-class storm out, not with her hands. Her hands were tiny, anyways. They weren't built for violence.

She wrapped a length of tissue around her hand and stuffed some up her sleeve in case she needed some, and exited the diner. The music was still playing, as loud as ever – figures why nobody had come running in after Rachel had shattered the mirror. She hadn't walked ten yards before she broke into a sprint, back the way she'd walked maybe an hour previously.

An hour was too long to leave Santana waiting like this. She had no idea if her parents were still arguing, but frankly, she didn't care. Santana was all that mattered.

Rachel kept on running until she got to Santana's gates. Shit. She'd been able to leave before, because they opened from the inside of the property and so her departure from the mansion was quick and without a problem.

It was the third time in one night that her inability to think of the consequences of her stupid, impulsive actions had landed her in deep crap. For the second time that night, Rachel fell against a cold hard surface and let herself fall to the ground. She reached into the small pocket sneakily sewn into her skirt, reaching for her phone and felt her heart thud lifelessly into her stomach with the realisation she'd left without her phone; she couldn't even call Santana to apologise.

The slam of the front door cracked through the air, followed by the sound of a heavy case being dragged across the ground. Rachel stilled, not daring to look behind her, in case whoever was now opening the garage and stuffing aforementioned case into the boot of a car noticed her. The car's engine roared to life and the glow of headlights neared the gates.

This was her chance. Rachel moved, quickly, to hide herself among some bushes lining the sidewalk – she wasn't about to give whoever was in that car an opportunity to hinder her romantic Mission Impossible-esque gesture to her girlfriend by calling the cops and informing them that an argyle-clad delinquent was trying to enter their home.

The car's engine calmed as it waited for the gates to slowly open, and then the nose of a fashionable black sports car edged out into the road, piercing the warm orange glow of the sky with bright white beams of light. She recognised the silhouette in the car as female, but it wasn't Santana. The shape of the nose was all wrong and she wouldn't leave her home in a car that wasn't hers.

The car pulled quickly away, before the gates had finished opening fully, leaving Rachel and extended window of opportunity. Once the car had driven a way down the road, Rachel dashed into the driveway and charged up to the front door.

She composed herself in a few seconds, and softly pressed down on the door handle; it was unlocked. She pressed the handle down further and pushed the door open, silently. Quickly, she slipped into the house, closing the door with as much precision as she had opened it.

Checking the rooms to either side of her for any signs of life, Rachel crossed the hall and crept up the stairs. She looked down the hall to Santana's room, realising her guilt again. The adrenaline rush of sneaking into somebody's property had shelved her aching pain for a few minutes, but it returned as fleetingly as it left, and it felt a hell of a lot worse.

The lump in her throat cut deeper into her as she walked down the lengthy hallway, to Santana's room. Tears rolled down her face as she made the walk of shame. It was like walking hot coals. She had no idea what to expect when she saw her girlfriend.

She didn't know how to deal with disappointing someone like this. In fact; 'disappointing someone' didn't even begin to explain what she had done.

Slowly, Rachel turned the door to Santana's room and pushed the door open. She peered around the door, to find Santana sound asleep on her bed, breathing softly. Rachel was relieved at this, and quietly let herself in. She kicked her shoes off by the door and stole across the soft carpeted floor to pull the curtains shut, before making her way to the edge of Santana's double-bed where she slept.

Fine ebony tresses were splayed across the covers, framing a disconcertingly red face, raw with the bruising of heavy tears. Santana's body was curled up in the foetal position, on Rachel's side of the bed. Well, it was where Rachel had fallen asleep after their extracurricular activities the other night, and it was where Rachel had been sat before she left. Santana was wearing a pair of pale blue sleep shorts and Rachel's loose-fitting _Wicked_ tee – so _that's_ where it had gone. A sad smile tugged at her lips, as she ran her finger along the damp spots of tear-stained fabric, juxtaposed with the memory of their day off. Rachel made Santana watch it in between making love in her bed, after the Latina told Rachel that Idina Menzel wasn't all _that _great – which was essentially blasphemy in the diva's book.

She brushed tendrils of hair out of the Latina's face, and gently kissed her forehead. Her lips lingered against Santana's sweaty skin, relishing in the feel and the warmth of her girl. She stood back and admired her sleeping form, even if her face was now slightly creased by her furrowing brow.

Rachel pulled the comforter from the other side of the bed and gently placed it over Santana, tucking her in. She placed another light kiss on the girl's face, before crossing the room to the en-suite bathroom.

She pulled the door to, so as not to awake her girlfriend from her deep slumber, and peeled the bloodstained tissue from her hand as she stood in front of the washbasin. She didn't look at her reflection in the mirror on the medicine cabinet above the sink; she couldn't. She caught only a glance of her red face in the mirror, before she busied herself with cleaning her cuts.

Some of the paper had gotten stuck in some of the cuts, meaning she'd have to wash all that crap out, too. Great.

She turned the taps on, letting the cool water cascade down her burning hand.

* * *

Santana opened her eyes, woken suddenly by the sound of running taps. Her head was banging; the tears and the hatred remerging, but now, as some twisted hangover that was nothing like just the emotional pain of it all. A thin beaming of light cut through her dark room – the curtains had been pulled to, nearly completely blocking out the deep glow of the sun.

And her comforter had been wrapped around her since she'd fallen asleep. She smiled at the gesture, but threw off the covers at the sound of tissue paper ripping and a muffled sniff coming from the bathroom.

Rachel.

Rachel was in her bathroom. _Fuck_. That was the last thing she expected from the girl, after her storm out. She wondered if her father had let her back in, wondering if being distracted by a friend was what she needed as he and her mother locked horns in the living room.

Santana figured that Rachel would probably come back in and check on her soon, so she threw the comforter off her and padded across the room to the bathroom. She waited outside the door, listening to the sound of running water and the sound of a few sharp gasps every few seconds.

That didn't sound like crying anymore.

Santana pushed the door open quickly and entered – like ripping off a band aid – and met Rachel's tear-filled chocolate eyes in the reflection of the mirror. There they were; those brilliant chocolate eyes, dulled with the recent tears she'd shed and the sadness overcoming her right then.

She moved across to Rachel, who didn't move as her eyes stayed locked with that Latina's, and looked into the sink, seeing the jagged cuts on Rachel's hand. The water in the sink had been dyed a faint pink as it mingled with red.

Santana reached into the medicine cabinet above the sink and pulled out some antiseptic wipes and band aids. She bit her tongue when she saw the bloodstained tissue by the faucets. She shut off the running water and gently took Rachel's unharmed hand, leading her out of the room and set her onto the bed.

The girls moved wordlessly, as if they could read one another's minds. Rachel let Santana take her and dab softly at the wounds. She hissed, as the antiseptic mingled with the rawness of the wound and her tender flesh.

Santana stopped her motions and locked her eyes with Rachel's once more. She met the fear, anticipation and guilt with her own, and brought her free hand to cup Rachel's face. Rachel shifted her cheek further into the touch – it had been much too long since she'd felt Santana's skin against her own.

"What happened?" Santana watched as Rachel's eyes fluttered shut, and a tear ran down her face. "Baby, please..."

"I was angry at what I did to you." More tears rolled down those soft honey cheeks, and then her eyes opened again. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"No, Rachel, I don't want you to apologise for that," Santana replied, moving closer to Rachel and wrapping her arms around her.

"No." Rachel ground the word out with finality. She looked up into Santana's eyes, placing her hands on her shoulders, "Santana, you did nothing but be honest with me. I don't even know why I was mad... I thought about it after I left, and the only one to blame is Finn. Fuck, we weren't even together when you did it! He lied to me, made our relationship something awful and twisted..."

She burst into tears and buried her face in the crook of Santana's, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck. Santana shushed her, as she cried, but even then, Santana gave in and joined Rachel in letting out more tears.

"I'm never losing you like that again," Rachel promised, "I'm going to make it up to you, one way or another." Rachel pushed Santana back onto the bed and rested her forearms on either side of her girlfriend's face. "What I did there... that's never going to be okay. I left you when you needed me most, and I won't do it again. I need to make it up to you..."

"Don't worry about it, Rach," Santana replied, locking her hands on the small of Rachel's back. She wasn't letting her go ever, ever again. "What matters now is that we move on... and we have each other and we'll never let either one of us go again."

"I know... But unless I absolutely blow you away with a dramatic romantic gesture, I may never forgive myself."

Santana laughed at her girlfriend's declaration, nodding in agreement. "Tomorrow night, maybe?"

"No. Sunday..." Rachel corrected her, "Tomorrow, we're coming out to our parents... if that's alright."

A grin spread across Santana's face that threatened to crack it in half. "That's perfect."

Rachel reciprocated the grin, and sank further into Santana's firm frame. Santana tightened her grip on Rachel, just content with watching her and basking in their union. Rachel brushed all the stray hairs from Santana's face, and leant down to kiss her softly. The kiss was returned eagerly, yet with finesse. This wasn't about lust. It never really was, but at that moment – after they'd almost lost one another to something so _ridiculous_ – they were inching closer to love at a fast rate.

As their lips slid against each other, soft hands caressing soft skin and legs tangling with one another, they didn't mind that love was indeed about to hit them like a freight train. As if they had a choice, after realising what they could have lost.

But as their bodies melded into one another in utter love and beauty, etching tonight into the dark realms of the past, nothing could have stopped them from becoming inextricably a part of one another's future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?**

**A/N: This chapter is primarily just a filler, I guess. It's just basically a hell of a lot of fluff with some sexytimes thrown in, so I guess it's not too bad... But the whole sexytimes part is the first time I've really written anything remotely smutty, you know, so if you could give me a heads up about what you thought of it, despite its brief tameness, that'd be cool.**

**A/N2: Oh, and as I predicted, I'm at a loss as to how to end this, but I reckon that there's probably only going to be one or two more chapters - which will include Quitt. I miss them.**

**Adios. For now...**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

Santana and Rachel had slept in until nine on Saturday; something of a lie-in for the both of them. And besides, they needed to sleep off the emotional baggage from yesterday. Santana had been wide awake since eight, perfectly content to watch Rachel sleep in the pale glow of the newly risen sun. She was spooning Rachel from behind, watching as her shoulders rose and fell gently with the soft rhythm of her breathing. Chocolate curls spilled down Rachel's back and sat on the sheets, between her body and her girlfriend's slightly taller one.

Santana leaned up, resting on her elbows, and looked over Rachel's sleeping form. She took a good look at the healing cuts on her girlfriend's hand, which was fisted into a loose ball by her face. Each of the jagged red marks were surrounded by tender pink flesh, which looked incredibly sore. She couldn't think of a rational explanation as to why Rachel would actually have cuts like that on her hand. She supposed she'd have to wake her up to get an answer, so that's what she did – in the best way she knew how.

Santana brushed a few strands of hair from Rachel's shoulder and planted brief kisses along the skin, until she reached Rachel's ear, and tugged on the lobe gently with her teeth. The shorter girl shivered at the touch, and Santana smiled against the shell of her ear, running her tongue along the length of it. Santana brought her hand around to Rachel's front and began trailing her fingers down the expanse of her torso, tracing light circles on the heated skin.

"Mmmm..." Rachel turned to face Santana, "What's the time?"

"Nine," Santana replied, capturing Rachel's lips with her own, "Did you sleep well?"

"Incredibly," Rachel drawled, still a little sleepy. "What about you?"

"It was okay. I've been watching you sleep for an hour... it's very therapeutic yet unsettling."

"How is watching me sleep unsettling? Oh God, I don't snore, do I?"

_Yes. Rachel snored. But it was the cutest thing she'd ever heard in her entire life._ "No, baby; but I would very much like to know where these came from..." She brushed her thumb lightly over the cuts, wincing as Rachel hissed at the touch.

"It doesn't matter where they came from-"

"It does to me; you're hurt, and it was because of last night." Santana brought the hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle softly. "I don't want us to have any more secrets, baby."

"Neither do I, but my hand... it's just... stupid." Rachel couldn't bear to think of when she'd actually punched a mirror last night. She was blinded by tears and self loathing... ugh. She couldn't keep thinking about that. It had been flushed out of her system already, and today was a new day.

"No more secrets, Rachel," Santana repeated. "Did you get into a fight or something?"

"No."

"Did you trip and fall?" _On what? A pile of razor blades randomly scattered around in the street? Pffft._

"No."

"_Rachel_," Santana hissed. "Don't start our morning off like this."

"I punched a mirror."

"How? Where'd you even go last night?" Santana sat up and pulled Rachel's hand towards her, trying to get a better look. "Ugh, this needs to be cleaned up."

"I went to a diner and cried in a bathroom stall and then I couldn't stand the sight of my own face in the mirror, so I punched it."

Santana stared down at Rachel in absolute disbelief. "If you ever do that again, I'll tie your hands behind your back. And not in the good way," she added.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow at her girlfriend, "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not unless you remember not to struggle," Santana quipped, smiling smugly – Rachel's bed was a four-poster, of course there was going to be tying up. Why hadn't she thought of this before? "Guess I've got a few more things to teach you, huh?"

"Sure," Rachel smiled. She hadn't even entertained the idea of being tied up; it just wasn't on the top of her list of things to do; she was only right now learning the ins and outs of having sex with another girl. Not that she'd had sex with any guys before, but well... that was different. They gave you sex-ed books about 'regular' sex, not lesbian sex. And she didn't read any of that – what was it? – Fanfiction, or God forbid that she would ever trawl the internet searching for porn.

"Good." Santana gave a final kiss to Rachel's hand and got off the bed, finding the clothes she'd been wearing last night and pulling them on. "Get up. I'm going to clean those damn cuts and then you can make me breakfast because I had to do it."

* * *

"There are your pancakes," Rachel smiled; handing a very pleased Santana a plate of five stacked on it, with some syrup drizzled on top. Santana eyed her breakfast dubiously and reached for the bottle of maple syrup across the table, liberally squirting more of the sauce over the plate and began wolfing down huge bites. Rachel rolled her eyes. "I know you said Mrs. Puckerman cooked for you sometimes, but don't you think you should have learned to cook more than toast and pop tarts?"

Santana stared at Rachel, her mouth full. She tried to quickly chew the gargantuan portion she'd shoved into her mouth down and swallowed it pretty much all at once. "Ow." She rubbed her throat and pouted, "Does it really matter? I'll learn when I get to college."

"College students eat little more than your repertoire already caters for," Rachel countered, cutting up some fruit for herself.

"Then I guess I'm already two years ahead of schedule," Santana quipped, knocking back a full glass of orange juice. Damn; last night had really given her appetite some kind of urge, because she'd poured herself out another glass and drank that down as Rachel shook her head. She wasn't the most ladylike of eaters, it had to be said.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe you could learn to cook some of the recipes your grandmother passed down," Rachel gestured to the thick, leather bound book sitting on the work top. "Although you would have to find vegan-friendly substitutes for the meat, eggs and cheese for me to actually eat it."

"Well, sure. Maybe I'll be a half decent chef by the time our first anniversary comes around," Santana laughed.

Rachel beamed. "You think we'll be together next year?"

"Sure I do," Santana replied, taking Rachel's bandaged hand as the diva joined the table with her bowl of fruit. She leaned in for a kiss, but pulled away as the kitchen door opened and a very tired looking Rafael entered. "Morning, Papa."

"Morning, mija," he smiled. He looked between the girls, noticing their hands laced together by entwining fingers. "And, uh, who might this be?" He furrowed his brow; he didn't hear anybody come in last night.

"This is Rachel; and Rachel, this is papa."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Lopez."

"Nice to meet you too, Rachel," he replied, reaching over and shaking her free hand, "Call me Rafael; Mr. Lopez was my father." Santana shook her head; every time she'd had a friend round, he introduced himself like that. He and her mother were about the youngest parents in her entire grade, somehow telling him that he could say things like that and still feel 'cool'. Rafael grabbed a cup and poured out some of the coffee Rachel had made. He turned to shorter girl and raised his cup, "You make good coffee."

"Hey! What if I made that?" Santana huffed.

Her father merely laughed heartily, and took a seat at the table. "Did you?" Santana said nothing, and he shook his head. "I don't suppose you made those pancakes, either." He took her fork and picked up a few bites from her plate. She frowned at him; when it came to pancakes, she was about as protective of them as Puck was with his waffles. "Nah, they taste great. Of course you didn't make them."

Rachel suppressed a giggle beside her girlfriend, but it didn't go unnoticed. She took one look at Santana's clenched jaw and burst out laughing. She covered her mouth with both her hands, and Santana folded her arms across her chest.

"Do you mind if I asked why you're here?" Rafael looked to the girls, raising a brow. He watched as they shared a look, smiled coyly and turned back to him.

"Rachel's my girlfriend," Santana said. She looked into her father's eyes, and found his acceptance. "She stayed over last night."

"I guessed that much," he replied. "I'm happy for you both." He got up from the table, taking another cup of coffee with him. "I've got to finish up some paperwork. You girls enjoy your day." He hung back and leant against the doorjamb, "And Santana; next time your guest stays over, I better find you making her breakfast. And, uh, don't forget to clean up."

They nodded and bid Rafael a good morning, as he walked away to his study, whistling some obscure tune.

"That went well," Rachel noted, leaning in and snatching that kiss that was snatched from her ten minutes ago.

"I think he's always had some kind of idea that I was gay," Santana laughed. "I mean, he always gave me this look whenever Britt was over."

"You were always kind of obvious, though," Rachel quipped.

"True," Santana looked over at Rachel. "How do you think your Dads will react?"

"Don't worry about them; we're very open people. We talk about everything."

"That's what I was afraid of," Santana muttered.

"Oh."

"Yeah... how much did you tell them?"

"All of it..." Rachel winced as Santana screwed up her face, trying to work out how telling them would ever go smoothly. "Look at me, Santana. Don't worry. They'll see how much you've changed, and maybe Dad will take a little convincing, but Daddy will love you, I promise."

"Which one's Dad?"

"Dad's shorting, balding and Jewish and Daddy is tall, black and very smiley."

"Well at least the big one won't beat me up."

Rachel slapped her arm playfully. "They would never do such a thing!"

"No bedazzled shotguns?"

"No!"

"Alright," Santana snickered, "I'm okay. I'm a little nervous, but that's normal. Now," Santana stood up from the table and tugged Rachel with her, "Come upstairs and soothe my nerves."

"But-"

"We can clean up later. Right now, we need to shower."

* * *

"They're going to hate me, I know it," Santana moaned, as Rachel practically dragged her down the path to the Berry house.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," Rachel returned, squeezing her girlfriend's hand in support. They had been over this so many times – before the shower, drying off after the shower, hastily cleaning up in case Rafael found Santana had neglected her chores and in the car to Rachel's house. Rachel even had to drive, because Santana's hands were beginning to shake with the nerves.

"Thanks, babe," Santana deadpanned.

"But it's true," Rachel wiggled her eyebrows. "And besides; at least it's the weekend, so they don't have to see you in your cheerleading uniform." Rachel's eyes roved over the Latina's body. She was very pleased with the slim-fitting vest and tight jeans that Santana had picked out, but it was that she had left her hair down that Rachel enjoyed the most.

"Please don't start mentally undressing me here; I don't think the inevitable result of it would be something your fathers are ready to hear," Santana brought Rachel's eyes up to hers with her words. "Later, though."

"Fine." Rachel turned to open the door, and dropped Santana's hand from hers as they entered the hall. They were enticed in by the smell of hearty Italian herbs and spices – Santana was glad it was lunchtime. Maybe the food could distract her.

"Rachel, is that you? Where have you been? We've been trying to call you all night!" A short man, a little thick around the waist, entered the hall and stopped when he saw the girls.

"Oh... I lost my phone," Rachel turned to Santana, "Did you see it?"

"It's in my room," she explained. Her eyes were trained on the unimpressed man before her.

"And you are?" Hiram folded his arms and waited patiently. He knew exactly who was standing in his hallway, nervously fiddling with her fingers trying to find anywhere else to look, but failing.

"Santana Lopez, sir." She swallowed nervously, and Rachel looked to her, giving her a reassuring smile.

"And I suppose you're the reason my daughter didn't come home last night?"

"Dad," Rachel interjected – _finally_ – "Let's just go into the kitchen."

He nodded, and reluctantly led the girls into the kitchen. "Leroy, she's home."

"Hey, sweetie," Leroy wrapped her into his arms as soon as he saw her, "We were worried about you." He picked up her bandaged hand, examining it. "What did you do to your hand?"

"Tripped and fell," Rachel lied quickly and pulled Santana further into the room, noticing that she was hanging back in the doorway; afraid to inch further away from her nearest escape route. "This is Santana."

Leroy took one stride over to her and welcomed her with a hug, too. Rachel was relieved that they weren't going to press her about the bandage if there was a guest to entertain. She awkwardly wrapped her arms around him in return, but was altogether glad when he pulled away. Rachel's fathers were chalk and cheese.

"Have you girls eaten? We're about to serve lunch, if that's okay."

"That would be great, Daddy," Rachel answered. She beamed at Santana, who was still silent. It unnerved her, to see such a shy side of her girlfriend when she was otherwise so forceful and confident. "What are having?"

"I made a lasagne that should be done in twenty minutes." Leroy pointed a hand to the oven, "I'll whip you up something, Rachel. You girls go on upstairs; we'll call you down when it's done."

Rachel and Santana left the kitchen quickly, to Hiram's little surprise. He shut the door behind them and turned to his husband. "You know who that is, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Leroy answered, grabbing some plates to heat up for the meal. He expected a reaction along these lines from Hiram, if the day came that Rachel came home with somebody that used to make her cry. "Could you defrost some of that vegetable soup I made the other day?"

Hiram complied and found the soup – scowling as he did so – placing it in the microwave and setting the timer. "Aren't you in the slightest bit concerned?"

"About what?" Leroy turned to Hiram, placing his hands on his hips.

"That she's alone upstairs with our daughter?"

"What's the big deal? Rachel obviously trusts her enough to bring her into her home and in case you didn't notice her obviously freaked out body language, I'd say she's expecting us to roast her."

"Well, I will." Hiram answered, puffing up his chest.

"No you won't," Leroy replied, "You'll do no such thing. She isn't some boy clearly unfit for her, like Finn, or Noah, or _Jesse_."

"I quite liked Finn." Hiram noted, "He was sweet."

"He would never be able to keep up with Rachel, and you know it. Noah was a better match for her, and that's saying something."

Suddenly, something in Hiram's head clicked. "You don't think-"

"Of course I do," Leroy chuckled at his husband's stupidity. "It's obvious. Her cheeks had that cute pink flush, like she's on cloud nine, or after she's watched RENT."

"Don't remind me," Hiram groaned. Musicals weren't his thing, and his daughter's obvious _admiration_ for that coked-up stripper Maureen was something he found disconcerting. Even more so now, that he realised that in twenty minutes, those girls could be doing a lot up in her room.

The timer on the microwave buzzed loudly. Leroy laughed, as Hiram jumped at the noise. He threw a dishcloth over to his husband. "Serve that up. I'll go call them down."

* * *

Santana caught Rachel off guard, spinning Rachel around to face her once she'd closed the door behind them. Santana fisted Rachel's hair as she pushed her girlfriend onto her bed, plunging her tongue into her mouth. Rachel's hands moved up her shirt and under Santana's bra, cupping her breasts. Santana squeezed a thigh between Rachel's legs, rocking gently.

"Shit," Rachel breathed against Santana's mouth, as she pulled away for air. "You can't do that. They'll hear us."

"Says the girl with her hands under my bra," Santana quipped, licking a trail down Rachel's neck and chest. "On the plus side, I'm a lot less nervous now."

"I should think you would be nervous that they might hear us," Rachel hissed.

"They said we had twenty minutes." Santana rocked her thigh into Rachel's centre again, grinning evilly as the girl bit her lip to keep from moaning. "Besides, at least we can't knock each other up."

"Uh huh," Rachel couldn't form coherent words any more, as Santana took to unbuttoning her blouse and unclipping her bra. Santana shoved all the unwelcome material away from Rachel's chest and took an erect bud into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip. She smiled against the heated skin as she felt Rachel try to rub her thighs together to relieve some of the building ache down below.

She released it from her mouth with a 'pop' and turned her attentions to the second peak, that she had been taking care of with her hand. Rachel brought one of the hands she had been previously massaging Santana's scalp with to her mouth, biting lightly on it to keep from groaning. It was getting harder to control, considering the increasingly more erratic rhythm of her breathing – her chest was heaving as Santana continued her ministrations.

Curse Santana for to gaining control of her nerves by coercing Rachel into having sex without a single word. Fuck, she was beginning to get close. Santana was moving her thigh at a steady speed, though each touch was escalating Rachel's approach to, dare she admit it without Santana even properly touching her, orgasm.

"You have to stop, Santana," Rachel gasped, "Please."

"Can't make me," the Latina challenged, as she brushed her lips down. She looked up to Rachel's face, and saw the diva's eyes were screwed shut and her lip was quivering in that familiar way – she was close. Santana leaned up and hovered above Rachel, taking both of her hands and holding them above her head. She swallowed Rachel's lips with her own, knowing that Rachel wouldn't be able to keep quiet at this rate.

"Girls?" The voice of Leroy Berry was heard through the door, along with a startling knock, hereby ending their fun.

"Shit," Santana growled, tearing her mouth away from Rachel's reluctantly and rolling off of the girl so she could compose and redress herself. She'd just been cockblocked by Rachel's freaking Dad. In all fairness, her girlfriend had warned her, but she wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

"Lunch is ready!"

"We'll be down in a second," Rachel called through the door, as she speedily buttoned up her blouse. They heard his footsteps fade away downstairs, and Rachel quickly brushed her hair. She threw the brush over to Santana. "I can't believe that!"

"Can't knock me for trying," Santana countered. She threw the hairbrush onto the bed and held the door open for Rachel. "Sorry, baby."

"It's alright. I just hope he doesn't actually know what was going on up here."

In the kitchen, Leroy gave his husband a knowing look as the girls entered; Hiram closed his eyes and shook his head, displeased with Leroy's antics.

Santana sat opposite from Hiram, with Rachel to her left and Leroy to her right. She eyed Rachel's green soup uneasily – it sort of looked like when her grandfather's old pet dog threw up the remnants of the shrubs at the park he'd once eaten – and turned to her lasagne. It was perfect.

"Wait... I thought you guys were vegans or something."

"Nope, just Rachel," Leroy said. "Ciabatta?"

Santana thanked him and took a slice of the bread and spread some butter on it.

"I hope that's organic," Rachel said, looking to Hiram.

"Yes," he answered quickly.

"Sweetheart; you do know that your uh..."

"What, Daddy?" Rachel turned to Leroy expectantly.

"The buttons on your blouse," he continued, nervously, realising what he'd been about to say. Instead, he motioned to his own chest, hoping she'd get the message.

Rachel looked down to her blouse, noticing that the buttons weren't even. Santana's eyes widened and she near-spit her food back onto her plate – they knew. Oh God. This was going to be fun to explain.

"Oh."

"Told you," Leroy turned to Hiram, grinning smugly.

"Leroy, please, not at the table," Hiram snapped.

"Daddy! What did you tell him?"

Santana leaned back in her chair, wondering if this was what every exchange between the members of the Berry household was like; Leroy and Rachel, the bubbly ones and Hiram there to keep a stern face on and keep his family together with an iron hand.

"That you're obviously dating," Leroy replied, as if Rachel should have known. Well, she probably should have expected that. Her Daddy was excellent at reading people.

"We were hoping to get to that after lunch," Rachel informed them. Santana sat forward again, taking Rachel's hand in her own.

"Yes, well, I suppose you can explain now, can't you?" Hiram sat back and clasped his hands together, waiting for either one of the teens to let him in on everything.

"Let me," Santana offered, before Rachel spoke. She turned to Hiram, who had quirked an eyebrow, "I know what you must be thinking, Mr. Berry. You probably think that I'm still the same girl that bullied your daughter," she paused, apologetically looking at each of the others, "But I'm not, and I hope you see that. I mean, I'm not above being brutally opinionated and that will never change, but Rachel means the world to me and I'd be the first to step in for her if anybody tried to hurt her. I know that I haven't made the best first impression, considering the whole shirt thing and all, but I love your daughter, and I'll be damned if you try to keep me away from her because of what I did to her years ago."

"You love me?"

"Yes." Santana answered, with a firm squeeze of her girlfriend's hand. "I maybe should have waited before I said-"

Rachel smashed her lips to Santana's, knocking the wind out of the other girl's lungs at the force of it. She kissed back, before pulling away, realising where they were.

"I love you, too," Rachel breathed against her lips, holding her close. The two shared another brief kiss, which was promptly broken up by Hiram clearing his throat.

Leroy slapped his arm, frowning. "Let them have their moment."

"They already had a moment upstairs, thank you very much," Hiram retorted. He looked to Santana, who was staring pie-eyed at Rachel with a goofy grin on her face. Her reverie was broken, when she felt her mobile buzzing in her pocket. She excused herself from the table to take the call.

Santana returned a few minutes later, sighing.

"What is it?"

"Quinn and Brittany have booked a table for the four of us at Breadstix tonight, for seven." She shoved her phone back into her pocket and took her seat once more, taking Rachel's hand.

"You're friends with Quinn Fabray, now?" Hiram was shocked even more so at _that_ titbit of information. "And Brittany is...?"

"Yes, Daddy," Rachel answered easily. "And Brittany is Quinn's girlfriend."

"Quinn's gay?" Leroy and Hiram exclaimed, in perfect unison. "That's a shocker," Hiram muttered.

"Yeah, we all thought so," Santana joked.

"Well then, I suggest we both go and pick out something to wear," Rachel began, "You can pick me up at half past six, Santana."

"Can't I help you pick something out?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her girlfriend. "No. It's going to be a _surprise_."

"Can't wait." Santana stood up to leave, taking Rachel into the hallway with her so they could say goodbye properly, without disturbing Hiram further. She took Rachel into her arms and they kissed passionately, until they had to break apart for air.

"That's all you're getting for now," Rachel told Santana, reaching up again and lightly pressing their lips together. She pulled away before the Latina could deepen the kiss and released the taller girl from her arms.

"I look forward to the rest," Santana flirted. Rachel held the door open for Santana to leave, and opened her mouth in shock as Santana copped a quick squeeze of her ass.

"I said that's all you were getting," Rachel hissed, swatting the wandering hand away.

"Just one for the road, right?" Santana laughed over her shoulder. She turned to wave, still snickering at Rachel's faux-admonishment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?**

**A/N: Holy crap... over 1,400 hits on the last chapter... I was kind of antsy about the whole declaration of love part (it sort of hit me that this fic's been _incredibly_ fast paced), but it's gone down well, I think, so that was a relief. I was kind of kicking myself for doing it but the reviews were kind, so yeah. Thanks for that, guys. Um, the editing might be a little bad because I stayed up 'til 2am to do this. Again. And at the last minute I made some major changes to the plot, so if things are a little out of place, that'll probably be why.**

**A/N 2: As requested, there shall be jerk!Finn coming right up... and I threw in a bunch of other stuff here and there.**

**Hope it's okay.**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

"Hey, Quinn," Brittany nudged Quinn playfully, as they ambled through the mall, having been enjoying a leisurely day shopping with her girlfriend. They had spent the previous night at Brittany's house, considering Judy wasn't all too comfortable with both Brittany and her daughter being in the under the same roof in one night, doing 'whatever you lesbians do', after accidentally walking in on the two making out in Quinn's room. Actually, the real reason Quinn suggested they leave was that Judy had recently begun seeing a man, David, and she wanted to leave the house before he arrived, because _he_ might not have been comfortable with it.

At least David was somebody that Brittany's father had introduced to her from the police station where he worked and not some bigot from church; all the men from church were stuffy, watered down versions of her father. After hearing her mother describe him to her with a spark of hope and joy in her eye, Quinn knew he was different and she wanted to give her mother enough space for it to work. She had been three months without Russell Fabray and surprisingly enough, they hadn't been bothered once by the man, apart from one drunken episode a few weeks after Quinn had moved back in with her mother.

And really, though Quinn insisted that she wait until he was okay with people being gay in general, he had shown up early and Judy had told him right there and then that the other blonde next to her daughter was Quinn's girlfriend – thankfully, he didn't seem to care.

Quinn found her mother's attempts to integrate her new 'lifestyle choice' into her home life quite endearing. Judy felt a tad awkward about it, but she was trying, and that was all that mattered to Quinn. It certainly helped that she was dating Brittany – the girl diffused the whole coming out situation with a large smile and an innocent remark that made Quinn's heart swell. It turned out that even Judy Fabray wasn't immune to one of those smiles and despite her announcing to her mother that she was a lesbian and then being struck with a lightning bolt, nothing happened. It was only a few words, a hug and a Spanish omelette for dinner.

"Yeah, babe?" Quinn hadn't really been paying attention to her surroundings – only the taut muscle of Brittany's waist firmly held with her right arm. Brittany's arm was equally as tight around hers, though it was loosening as the taller girl was pulling the couple to the right as she subconsciously moved towards Breadstix.

"Breadstix is over there, and you promised me we could double date with San and Rachel," she explained, smiling brightly and leading Quinn towards the restaurant. "I wanna book a table for seven tonight!"

"I thought we were going to get smoothies?" Quinn asked smoothly, veiling her panic. She hadn't remembered about that particular promise to Brittany, seeing as she sent most of her free time keeping all the others. At a glance of her watch, Quinn saw there would only be around six hours until the meeting. Not that she was afraid of Santana, but the girl didn't like things to be sprung on her much.

"I'll go book the table myself!" Brittany declared, letting go of Quinn's hand and flouncing towards Breadstix. "Oh, and can I have a mango one?"

"No problem," Quinn replied, grinning widely.

She made her way towards the smoothie store, slipping her hands into the shallow pockets of her jeans as she wove through the crowd. Quinn hadn't been interested in coming to the mall, but Brittany had told her there was a giant stuffed duck on sale in one of the stores down there, and how could Quinn resist? Yeah, she was whipped. But it felt _so_ good.

As she rounded a corner, Quinn heard a familiar voice behind her. "Not out with Britt, today?"

"Finn." Quinn ground out, turning around to face Finn in the crowds. "What are you doing here? Taking your boyfriend out to watch the game?" Quinn inwardly snickered at that one. He and Sam had been spending a lot of time together lately and she'd seen Kurt looking mighty jealous at the lack of attention Sam was paying him while Finn was indulging his need to influence somebody because he was the golden boy quarterback.

"No," Finn growled. "Unlike you, I'm _perfectly_ straight."

"Don't even start with the homophobic comments, Hudson," Quinn warned. "It's bad enough that you verbally abused your own stepbrother like that, let alone your friends."

"Yeah, well you're not quite a friend. You're a filthy whore," he spat, advancing on her, closing the gap between Quinn's body and the wall. "And you're using Britt."

"Oh I am, am I?" Quinn curled her lips in disgust at Finn's insinuation that she would even _think_ of hurting Brittany.

"You're just using her and messing her around, while you experiment," he hissed, looking down on her, "You messed me around last year with the whole Beth thing; I don't think you wouldn't do something like that again."

"That is _not_ fair!" Quinn growled. She felt a lump in the back of her throat begin to grow, as she remembered what little time she had spent with Beth; he didn't have the right to throw her daughter's name around, as if she was worth nothing more than an excuse for Finn to stroke his grossly swollen ego. "We never spoke as my pregnancy continued, Finn. I grew up and began to explore things about myself that I hadn't even considered before; but you never got to see that, because you were too busy stringing Rachel along."

"Yeah, and I'd have had a shot at getting her back if you didn't lump her together with that raging dyke Santana for that duets competition," he spat, pushing her back against the wall, "You're just a cold, manipulative bitch who ruins people's lives and you'll never, ever change."

"Stop it!" Quinn snarled; her throat scratchy from the tears she was trying so hard to suppress. "Stop trying to make yourself out to be some victim – you're not the golden boy, Finn. Might I remind you that you cheated on me with Rachel last year!" Quinn gained some height, her confidence building as her voice gained an increasingly irate tone, "You even dumped her to date Santana and Brittany last year, and I might add, that Santana certainly didn't think you put on a first class show for her at that dingy little motel. You couldn't even be bothered to buy her a meal afterwards. You just got up and left, like you always do."

"No I don't; and it doesn't matter what Santana thinks about having sex with me – a _guy_ –'cause she's only into fucking other girls," Finn spat back. He advanced towards Quinn, forcing her into an alcove out of the way of the crowds. He was blocking her way out, and Quinn was worried that Brittany wouldn't be able to find her amongst all the people. She figured that if she let him get what he wanted over with, he would leave her and she could get the hell away from him.

"You're going to destroy our chances at winning Nationals, too. Do you really think Sam's going to stay on if he's not dating you? I told him he had a shot with you, Quinn, because I know you're straight, but then it turns out you're a going through some dirty little carpet munching phase."

Quinn lunged forward and pushed Finn back, catching him off guard. "Shut up!" she yelled, "Stop thinking of your image, and Sam's image! Women are people too; we're not just tools you can use to further your own lives and think that we'd be happy with it because you're on the freaking football team!"

Finn stumbled a little at the sudden force, but pulled himself together quickly and grabbed Quinn's forearms before she had a chance to retract them.

"Let me go, you Neanderthal," she spat. Finn narrowed his eyes at her and stepped forward, pushing her against the wall. Quinn didn't need to look twice at the arrogant glint in his eye to know he might try something _very_ stupid if she didn't take action now, so she brought a knee to his crotch with all the force she could and slammed her foot down onto one of his as he released her arms and fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

"I'm not giving up on any of you!" he cried out, "You'll come around, Quinn! You all will."

Quinn ignored him and stepped aside his writhing form, and ran as fast as she could until she got to the smoothie store – she needed to find Brittany and she needed her now. She needed to know that she was safe and she hadn't gotten lost because she felt awful for letting her go off alone like that. If she had stayed, none of this would have happened. Meeting Finn was very much a coincidence, and if she'd just gone with Britt, she wouldn't be fighting back her tears and crippled with fear that something had happened because she hadn't been there.

Quinn was almost crying with relief at the sight of Brittany sitting in a booth in the milkshake store and ran in, enveloping her girlfriend in a tight embrace. She buried her head in the crook of Brittany's neck, sobbing lightly. She was immersed in the soft scent of her girlfriend's skin, her warmth and her touch and her long locks of light blonde hair.

"Quinn?" Brittany cupped Quinn's cheeks and brought watery hazel to calm seas of pale blue, "Why are you crying?"

"You're not a phase," Quinn mumbled, capturing Brittany's lips with hers, "You're mine and you're everything," she went on, between urgent kisses that were getting more and more heated as seconds flew by. "You're my everything."

"You're mine, too," Brittany replied, against Quinn's lips. She felt a shiver down her spine as their warm breaths mingled, and Quinn's tears had subsided into small laughs of relief as Brittany's arms linked together behind Quinn, pulling her closer.

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm on top of the world," Quinn whispered back. She pressed her lips to Brittany's again, though this time, her touch was softer and less intense. She didn't need heated kisses and hours in bed to know where she was supposed to be. She was already there, wrapped up with Britt in a smoothie store booth, whether the world was watching or not.

* * *

Santana pulled up outside the Berry residence at half past six, precisely; she knew firsthand about Rachel's need for punctuality (that she had managed to break several times) and didn't want to endure a rant before their double-date. Tonight was going to be perfect. Even the light shower that had begun to fall wasn't going to be a problem, because they were going to be inside the mall all evening.

It had occurred to Santana, as she cruised leisurely through Lima on her way to pick up some flowers for her lady that she and Rachel hadn't even been on an official date alone since their epic outing; Santana decided there and then that she would have to fix this soon. But, for this evening, Santana let it be – she was going to have a romantic dinner at Breadstix (as romantic as you could get at Breadstix, anyway) and her two best friends would be there equally sickeningly in love with each other.

Santana quickly took the small bouquet of roses she'd bought for Rachel at the florist's at the centre of town and walked coolly down the path. She was nervous as to what Rachel would be wearing tonight, because Santana herself had been antsy enough. After being ribbed mercilessly by her father thanks to her flustering, Santana decided on wearing a slim-cut black blazer with a pair of dark jeans and a patterned vest. If she was going to wear anything she'd picked out last minute, it would be pretty simple, but there'd be enough cleavage to distract from any comments about the lack of originality there. It was probably a result of not having to think of what to wear out that often after about two years of wearing a Cheerios uniform day in, day out. She definitely looked like she was the man in the relationship tonight; Rachel would more than likely be

She knocked on the door and waited patiently for one of the Berry men to let her in; she knew Rachel would probably be upstairs finishing off getting ready, despite expressly requesting that Santana arrive dead on the dot at six-thirty.

The door was pulled open by a smiling Hiram Berry. "Come on in." He stood back and allowed her to step over the threshold. She awkwardly walked into the kitchen and stood against the counter, listening to the sound of the football on big screen television next door in the living room.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Water would be fine, thanks," she replied. She held onto the bouquet tighter, and forced a smile at him. She wasn't the best with forcing herself to smile; she would only ever be able to achieve some catty expression or it would be extremely obvious that she didn't mean it.

She took the water from Hiram and drank all of it almost instantly. _That burned twenty seconds. Excellent. Now what the hell am I going to do? All this smiling is freaking me out. A few hours ago, the dude looked like he could freeze me with his eyes, or something and that's __**my**__ thing._

"Santana, I'd like to say that I'm sorry." Hiram clasped his hands together, training his eyes on the Latina. Apologising really wasn't his forte and he was just going to get it out there before he could get distracted by Rachel's exuberance. "I shouldn't have been so hostile before, but I'm sure you can understand why I might have been a little apprehensive." Santana nodded, allowing him to continue. "Obviously, all I heard from Rachel through school was that you tormented her with your friends without a shred of thought to how it might make her feel and it broke my heart that she had to go through that. I had to let her go in every day, knowing she'd come home and cry about it later." Santana swallowed harshly and blinked her tears away. She felt the guilt building up again. "If I ever got a firsthand experience of your former self, you'd have to try a hell of a lot harder to convince me that you're good enough for her. Sure, maybe I think the declaration of love at lunch earlier was a little too soon, considering that I know you haven't been interacting as friends for long, let alone being in a relationship together." Hiram fisted his hands into his pockets, at the sight of Santana looking out of the window stiffly, with a tightly clenched jaw. "But that's just my view on it all; you were right, earlier, that I can't keep you apart for your past mistakes. Rachel's forgiven you, evidently, and so should I. All I ask is that if you ever make her cry again, they had better be tears of joy."

Santana let out a little laugh along with Hiram at that last sentence, effectively dissolving the tension. It was okay. She was in the inner circle and wouldn't be abusing that honour any time soon if she could help it. "Thanks, Mr. Berry."

"Call me Hiram," he corrected her. "These look great. She'll love them."

"I hope so. I just took a wild guess at the florist's," Santana explained, rubbing the back of neck. The more she looked at the roses, the more they looked like a glaringly horrific cliché, but she and Rachel hadn't discussed suitable breeds of flowers to give to one another.

"Don't we all," Hiram joked. He admired the red roses and chuckled at Santana's spreading blush. Santana checked her watch – it was now twenty to seven and Rachel still wasn't downstairs. They'd be late if they didn't get a move on soon. Plus, Quinn and Brittany had texted her earlier to ask if they could bum a ride there and back because Quinn's mother's car was at Hummel's Tyres and Lube for a repair on something in it's ancient engine, so Judy had to borrow her daughter's car to go to some obscure luncheon with her friends from church that day.

"Elijah, please tell her she should pick something else to wear. I mean, come on," Kevin complained, after walking into the living room with a pissed Rachel in tow. "Oh, hey Santana." He hadn't planned on her being here and sighed when he saw that it was already past the time that Rachel asked Santana to show up.

Santana's eyes almost bugged out of their sockets at the sight of Rachel in _that_ black velvet bodice paired with the tiny black skirt she'd worn to school that one time, with a pair of kitten heels. She couldn't help but smile wickedly as her eyes traversed each curve of Rachel's body – she definitely needed to ditch the argyle and wear stuff like this more often (i.e. twenty-four seven). It didn't occur to her that Leroy and Hiram were still in the room as soon as she'd laid eyes on her girlfriend.

"What's the big deal? She's going on a date," Hiram told his husband, waving off his objection. He looked to Santana, who was more than pleased with Rachel's attire, apparently.

"It's a bodice!" he exclaimed. "I mean, it's just _asking_ for random guys to objectify you when you're out."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Leroy's protests. "What's the problem? I wore it to school once last year!"

"Oh dear Lord," Leroy sighed. "Hiram, you'd agree that's going too far, right?"

"Whoa, there," Santana interjected, before this escalated into some huge production that involved Rachel getting mad before they'd even left the house and before they would be late and end up losing their table. "If anybody makes a pass at her, believe me, I'll be the first person to send 'em packing."

"Exactly," Rachel agreed, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist. "And those roses are lovely," she added, kissing her girlfriend soundly as she felt two smooth hands slink around her waist and lock as they met at the small of her back.

"Glad you like them," she breathed against Rachel's lips. Tonight's lip gloss special was cinnamon; _excellent_.

"Uh, girls," Hiram chimed in, tapping his wristwatch. "It's quarter to seven. You'd better get a move on."

"Crap," Santana spat, pulling herself out of Rachel's hold and entwining their fingers to leave, "We're picking up Brittany and Quinn."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Rachel shook her head at her girlfriend's apparent lack of initiative to tell her these things.

"Bye, guys," Santana called from the hallway to Leroy and Hiram, ignoring Rachel's light chastisement.

"Bye!" Rachel shouted to her dads as Santana pulled her out the front door. "It's not me you should be apologising to when we're late," Rachel said to Santana, struggling to match her taller girlfriend's speed in her heels. Santana had worn a pair of comfortable flats – much more practical.

"We're not going to be late," Santana told her sharply, opening the door for Rachel to get in the passenger's side. "I was going to tell you when I saw you, but I got distracted by the whole bodice thing..." It was a lie, but better to flatter Rachel than admit she'd made a mistake.

"I'm not pleased that you just lied to me," Rachel said, as Santana climbed into the driver's seat and started up the engine. "But I'll forgive you because I _do_ look great in this and the roses were a nice surprise."

Santana bit back a laugh at Rachel's self-assuredness, checking that Rachel had thankfully put on her seatbelt, "Great is a bit of an understatement," she replied, as the engine roared to life. "And I'm sorry in advance for what I'm about to do."

Rachel sat, confused at the apology, until Santana pulled away from the kerb and her car roared down the road at a speed way more than was considered legal. Judging by the look on Rachel's face, Santana was right to have at least warned her in advance.

"Slow down, Santana!" Rachel yelled, gripping onto the centre console of the car and the handle of her door. "Apologising beforehand won't work if the police catch us, you know," she warned, as Santana blatantly ignored her order to slow the hell down.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Santana replied nonchalantly, as she sharply turned the vehicle down another street in the quiet suburbs. "The police won't catch us, I promise."

Rachel scoffed at Santana's empty promise and prayed that Rafael wouldn't be too pissed if he needed to bail his daughter out of jail when he could have been watching the sports channel instead. She was grateful that since Russell and Judy's divorce, Quinn didn't live too far away from her own house and that Santana was a very able driver, or else she would have demanded to be let out of the car and would have walked the rest of the way to Dudley Road, heels or not.

Santana stopped the car abruptly when she made it to the Fabray resident and tooted the very loud horn several times.

"We'd better not lose our table," Quinn hissed in Santana's direction, as she belted up in the back seat next to Brittany. Brittany took her girlfriend's hand, calming her down.

"Hey to you too, Fabray," Santana replied. "We won't lose our table, I promise."

Quinn sat back in the plush seats as Santana kept her promise, more than used to the Latina's hasty style of driving. She bit her tongue – speeding like that would definitely keep them on time, but if there was a cop somewhere along the way that she hadn't accounted for (how could you at these speeds?) they would be more than just late. There would be parents and bail involved.

"I hope you've got your license on you," Quinn remarked, as Santana nearly ran some red lights. Rachel shrieked and Santana snickered at her irrational fear that she might actually crash.

"Do you think Rach would let me drive if I haven't?" _Please. Lopezes are the __**best**__ drivers. You don't pass first time if you're not excellent, right? I mean, if Puck can manage not to crash into a tree while we took a five mile an hour drive through his neighbourhood at three AM high on weed, I can get us to the mall at fifty miles an hour – fifty? Okay, maybe I should slow down... but only a little._

Quinn laughed in return, and her eyes drifted to the diva in the passenger seat - she snorted at the sight of Rachel clinging onto the centre console and her door handle and then turned her eyes back to Brittany's indifference; the taller blonde was intently watching as Lima whizzed past them at almost fifty miles an hour.

She was glad that they managed to get to the mall with five minutes to spare without Santana putting a stopper on their plans – the only problem was that because it was seven PM on a Saturday night, the car park was absolutely packed and the only spaces left were all in the far corner, almost out of the view of the entrance.

Santana ended up giving Rachel a piggy-back to the mall through the slightly heavier rain – "Santana, I am not _running_ in heels like this!" – and Santana obliged without complaint. What the hell else was she going to do?

Beside them, Quinn made a 'whipped' sound and giggled at Santana, who would have flicked her the finger had she not been preoccupied with carrying Rachel towards the mall.

Rachel had calmed down by the time a nervous teenage boy with unfortunate acne had shown them to a booth in the heart of the buzzing restaurant. He handed each of them a menu and informed them he'd be back soon to take their orders. Santana just glowered at him for every second that he was there; maybe Leroy was right about Rachel's dress just inviting the creeps to come take a look.

"Take a photograph, it'll last longer, dumbass," Santana sniped at him as she took her seat on the outside of the booth, opposite Quinn.

He just nodded and left the four quickly, before Santana could pick one of her more choice phrases to use. She was a regular and she was _very_ forward about staff that didn't hit her high standards.

"See? I told you we wouldn't be late," Santana informed Rachel, pecking her cheek.

"Yes, well, next time I think you shouldn't get so _distracted_ and leave earlier," Rachel retorted.

"Yeah, San," Brittany put in, "I mean, Rachel looks totally hot and stuff, but a policeman might have stopped you." Brittany gave Rachel an approving smile.

"Why, thank you, Brittany." Rachel thanked the girl, but wondered what Quinn would be thinking of the girl's lack of filter just then.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow in Brittany's direction, but stopped as she caught a glimpse of the swell of Rachel's breasts in the corner of her eyes and retracted her reply before it had even rolled off of her tongue. _Hot damn_. Quinn quickly composed herself as Santana stared icily at her for keeping her eyes focused on Rachel's cleavage for a nanosecond too long.

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Santana warned.

"No problem," Quinn replied. She turned and pressed her lips to Brittany's with vigour. She cupped her cheeks and deepened the kiss, uncaring of any sour looks they might get. Quinn felt a buzz whenever she kissed Brittany in public, like she was a kid breaking some pointless rule, but the intent was still there.

Santana was about to do just the same thing to Rachel – she would, if she hadn't noticed their busboy by the table, clasping his clipboard in front of his crotch, gawping as the girls lazily kissed one another.

Santana looked him up and down with utter disgust, seeing that his sweaty face was tainted by a bright red blush and his lip was quivering, and wondered just how long he had been standing there. If it had been less than a minute – which it more than likely was – Santana reckoned he had beaten Finn Hudson at his own game. She didn't think twice about grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck and pulled him down the length of the restaurant. He let out a strangled whimper midway along their walk, sending chills of repulsion down Santana's spine, and almost tripped over as he lost his footing for trying to keep his legs together at Santana's crazy pace.

She dragged him to the podium where the manager of the restaurant was sitting, laughing heartily into his mobile phone and online shopping on his battered notebook. Typical; last time she'd met the guy because of his inadequate staff, he was playing online poker.

"Do you train your staff properly or is it a habit of yours to hire brain-dead morons to cream themselves instead of doing their job like they're paid decently for it?" Santana bit out, unaware of the several turning heads behind her.

"Excuse me?" The man turned to her, appalled that anybody would interrupt him in the middle of a call. He recognised her from a year ago – she was the mouthy cheerleader with the wheelbarrow that had the nerve to call their corporate office and fire the girl who refused her as many breadsticks as she could carry out of the store with her.

"Answer my question, idiot," Santana snapped. She snatched the phone from the man as he stared at her. "He'll call you back," she spat into the mobile, hung up, and handed it back to him, indifferent towards his distaste. "I don't take my girlfriend and my best friends out to dinner only to watch some douchetard jizz in his freaking pants because he can't do his job."

The manager looked to the boy and cringed when he saw what Santana was referring to. He couldn't even bring himself to look at the boy's trembling lips and his purple face, which was covered in a greasy film of sweat.

"Get it now, pal? I'm leaving now, 'cause I've already missed enough of my date, but I expect you to fucking fire him," she snarled and leant down onto the podium, bringing her eyes level with his and continued in a low growl, "Because if I come back here and find out that he's still being paid to blow his load in front of paying customers, I'll make sure you'll be the one getting fired. Got it? Good." He nodded dumbly at her as she turned to leave, striding back to her table.

"Sorry," Quinn and Brittany uttered, looking sheepish, as Santana took her seat.

"Don't be," she replied to them, but kept her eyes on Rachel's and leaned in for her long overdue kiss. Santana smiled against Rachel's lips after they pulled apart when oxygen became necessary, and wrapped her arm around her girl; now their date could begin. She was glad that dealing with any unnecessary problems was best to do early, but the fact that the date was even interrupted at all irritated the Latina.

Seconds later, an older woman appeared, waiting to take the girls' orders. She was the human embodiment of cardboard, but she was employee of the month compared to Finn Hudson 2.0.

"Why couldn't she have just come round before?" Santana remarked, as the woman left to fill their orders.

"Don't get hung up on it," Rachel told her, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," Brittany cut in, "Rach said she would call the UCLA if he came back."

"I think you mean the ACLU, sweetie," Quinn amended, smiling lovingly at her girlfriend.

Brittany just smiled and stole another kiss, as their food was served.

"Mmm, Rach, that rabbit food looks delicious," Quinn jibed, laughing lightly. She half-grimaced at the vegan casserole that Rachel had been served – unfortunately, it was the only vegan dish available tonight and Rachel made do with it. She'd had it before, but their vegan pasta dish tasted a great deal better.

"I'm sure your strips of dead pig wrapped around a dead chicken will be delightful, too," Rachel shot back in faux anger – though part of her really was disgusted. She refused to directly look at the dead animals on Quinn's plate; as if it were a scene from a horror movie she was likely to get nightmares from.

"Want some dead cow, instead?" Santana snickered, cutting off a bite of her rare steak and holding her fork up for Rachel.

"Ugh, Santana that is disgusting," she hissed, swatting the steak away. "And you'll be cleaning your teeth at least three times before you even think of putting those lips to mine."

"Oh my God," Quinn breathed out between snickering at Santana, "I can't believe you just cockblocked _yourself_."

Santana's face dropped as she chewed her bite of steak and even her thunderous glare didn't immediately stop Quinn and Brittany's peals of laughter ringing through the room.

* * *

It was ten o'clock by the time the girls had paid their bill and made their way out of the mall, conversing contentedly with entwined fingers and arms and casual kisses. They had stopped off at the smoothie store to grab some drinks and ended up sitting in there for around an hour and only left when the store manager told them that they had close for the night. Apparently, Santana had found that Rachel was no longer averse to Santana having eaten bloody meat for her dinner after she'd knocked back several passion fruit smoothies. The overpowering flavour of the tropical fruit was enough to mask the taste of the meat, so Rachel said - Santana secretly reckoned that Rachel just couldn't last without needing to make out with her. She liked that explanation better, anyway.

The mall had emptied out by the time their exultant voices rang through the empty gangways lined with stores that were getting ready to close for the day, leaving them to be as open as they liked with minimal dirty looks.

"Here," Santana took off her blazer and handed it to Rachel, upon noticing that the rain had gotten ten times worse since they got to the mall three hours ago. "You'll freeze out there."

"What about you? You're only wearing a vest underneath that." Rachel handed the blazer back to Santana, but she wouldn't take it.

"I guess you'll just have to find a way to warm me up later, huh?" Santana said, taking the blazer and draping it over Rachel's shoulders.

"Uh, guys, we're right here," Quinn feigned disgust as Santana and Rachel pulled out of a brief kiss.

"Like this is any worse than your little show in Breadstix earlier," Santana jibed.

Quinn smiled, her eyes glazing over with the memories of Brittany's vanilla flavoured lips, and handed her pea jacket to Brittany. Brittany took it, even if it was too short for her longer body. "Compared to you actually _dragging_ the guy through the restaurant and having him fired? Do you know how many people were staring at you?"

"So you wanted me to leave him there to gawp at you like you were desperate porn stars in an adult theatre?" Santana hit back, as the four of them made their way towards the exit.

"Good point," Quinn conceded. She held the door open for the three others as they stepped under the canopy over the doors. Looking down the length of the car park, Quinn wondered why the hell the designers of Lima's Mall Complex hadn't built a canopy down the length of the building. This being Lima, she wasn't surprised that the facilities were overwhelmingly crappy when you needed them the most.

Outside, the rain was coming down in buckets, literally pounding against the asphalt. The car park was empty, save for a few cars – which belonged to staff – were still there. Santana couldn't even see her car at the back of the car park.

"Hey," a deep, slurring voice shouted, "Hey, you guys!"

Quinn squinted to see a figure getting dangerously close to the four girls, holding something in his hand.

"Ay dios mio," Santana grumbled. She _really_ didn't need any more trouble from retarded guys; she'd had more than enough for one night.

The girls slowly turned to walk away, but the man picked up his pace, and then there he was – a very drunken Finn Hudson, clutching a half-empty pack of beer in his left hand, with one of the bottles half full in his right. Quinn froze, and realised that he must have gotten that from her fridge at home. It was an expensive Belgian brand from that upmarket store on Fourth; one that Finn would hardly be able to afford, whether he was under age or not.

Santana stiffened as she too realised who was bothering them. She kept her eyes trained on the man and a tight hold on Rachel's hand.

"Don't try to walk away from me, ladies," he leered, "I have a few things to say to you."

"Go away," Quinn yelled.

"Shut up," he spat, "I have a few things to say to you all." He narrowed his eyes at the girls, his jaw clenching as he saw Quinn's hand entwined with Brittany's and Rachel's with Santana's.

"You're not getting anything from us until you're sober, pal," Santana growled.

"So, Rachel, I take it Satan never told you that she fucked me last year?" Finn yelled, ignoring the Latina. His eyes were fixed on Rachel and his blood was boiling at the sight of her wearing Santana's blazer over the dress she tried to seduce _him_ in last year. Hah. Santana was just lapping up his sloppy seconds. But Finn wouldn't be satisfied until Rachel was in his arms again. She wasn't gay; hell, she spent last year chasing after him! Nothing had changed for Finn - he was still the male lead of Glee and the quarterback, so why was she still clinging to that good-for-nothing whore?

"I did tell her," Santana spat, speaking up for Rachel. She let go of her hand and stepped forward, "I told her and we're all the better for it! At least now she's in a stable relationship with somebody who thinks she's worth the fucking truth! She's better than that, you dumb fuck, and you'll never get a fucking chance with to make it up to her because she chose me!"

"Shut up, you filthy Mexican fag," Finn roared, sneering at Santana. "Rachel was who I asked!"

Quinn turned to Rachel, before she could react. "Rachel; take Brittany and wait for us in the car," Quinn ordered. She saw Brittany's face, which was near drained of all colour; she had to get her away from that before she was scarred by Finn's apparently calamitous temper. He had to be dealt with, and while Santana would definitely be facing off with the man after he'd just insulted her like that, her girlfriend was somebody that she could protect. She leaned up and placed a quick kiss on Brittany's cheek, attempting to soothe the taller blonde's nerves. "It'll be okay, baby."

"My keys are in the right hand pocket," Santana muttered to Rachel quickly, and leaned down to give her own girlfriend a kiss.

Quinn and Santana let go of their girlfriends' hands and turned to Finn, listening as their feet patted away in the distance. They let the rain hit them, as they faced Finn. Now he'd spoken, they realised he wasn't as drunk as they originally determined, but he'd knocked four back already and had drained the remainder of the fifth during the twenty second exchange just made by the girls.

Quinn and Santana listened as Rachel and Brittany ran away through the rain, their footsteps being easily drowned out by the sound of rain hammering against glass and metal. They didn't dare take their eyes off Finn, even to see where their girlfriends were. His imposing figure took on an uneasy stance and the girls reckoned that he'd be easy enough to get rid of.

"So, I went to see your mom today," Finn began, inspecting the bottle in his hand, as if were merely commenting on the colour of it.

Quinn's heart stopped. "What?"

"I went to her house, looking for you," he elaborated, though still paying more attention to the bottle than the girls before him and was stumbling slightly, "She wasn't in, so I just trashed your place and took some booze." Finn threw his head back and tried to suck the remaining few drops of alcohol out of the bottle, but failed. He growled in frustration and turned back to Quinn and Santana. Each girl was staring at him like he'd just punched them. He felt like punching them, for ruining his life. Quinn was happy for fucking once and Santana had stolen the love of his life.

Next to Quinn, Santana was equally as enraged. She listened as the man went on and was willing Quinn just to walk away, but she couldn't do anything unless the blonde made that decision. She wasn't going to leave Quinn here. Rachel and Brittany were safe in the car, and she was glad that Finn had come alone.

"I found some pictures of Beth," he rambled on. "They're kinda cute. I didn't burn 'em, 'cause I guess having them to look at kinda just reminds you of you being so useless you and Puck couldn't even keep your kid. Guess I got a lucky break."

"You shut your mouth about my daughter!" Quinn shrieked, feeling her blood boil as her temper began to rise.

"She was a mistake, though, just like you and your stupid gay disease!" Finn bellowed, his voice dripping with repulsion and utter disgust as his eyes focused on the drenched blonde girl before him. He smashed the bottle on the wall, and edged towards the girls who were staring at him, frozen in fear.

"But I guess if I can't talk it out of you, I'll have to use other methods."


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: Because all fic writers own Glee, right?**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter... They were awesome :) **

**Enjoy...**

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* * *

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**Makin' Music**

Santana and Quinn's feet were firmly planted on the floor as jagged shards of glass hit the asphalt, spilling across the floor, landing no less than one foot away from them. Finn glowered at them with an evil gleam in his brown eyes, his hair was slicked down by the rain and his clothes were clinging to his body, logged with water.

Both girls were ready to run; but _where_ they were going to run was the million dollar question. If they ran to the car, sure they might be able to get in and drive the hell away, but the downside was that Britt and Rachel would be at risk if Finn caught up to them. If they didn't run to the car, where would they go? Brittany and Rachel would worry then, because Santana and Quinn had no way to contact their girlfriends.

"Are you just going to stand there while I drive this through your stupid faces, huh?" Finn growled, taking a clumsy step forward, "I guess you're both stupid, too."

"Look, Finn, just put the bottle down," Quinn shouted, holding her hands up defensively, "Don't do something you might regret!" Finn screwed his face as Quinn spoke. The fear was there, but she wasn't moving. Was he doing it wrong?

"Really, Quinn?" Santana hissed. Her fists were curled into tight balls at her sides, ready to go on the attack. She knew he was holding a glass bottle, but that didn't mean she wouldn't do her best to defend herself. Sizing him up, she reckoned that with the amount of booze he'd drank that she could run rings around him. Santana might not be as strong as the hulking man child threatening her actual life, but she sure was faster.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Quinn bit back. She saw Santana's fists in the corner of her eye, and hoped that this wouldn't resort to violence. It was more than likely going to go that way, but skin wasn't a formidable match for sharp, broken glass.

They had no jackets and nothing in the pockets of the jeans they were wearing. The best bet they had against Finn would be to throw their shoes at him, or strangle him with their shirts besides running away.

"Why would I regret making you see why you're wrong?" Finn growled, "_I_ have the power here."

"Over my dead body," Santana spat, crouching a little.

"That can be arranged," he slurred, and lunged towards the girls, swinging the bottle furiously. Finn's body was twisted; his torso turned with the swinging force of his arm and his legs stayed planted on the ground. The broken end of the bottle narrowly missed the girls' tensed bodies before the two sprang into action; Quinn ran from the scene, whereas Santana decided she would pull back her fist and smack Finn dead in the mouth while he was off-balance; the lumbering oaf fell onto the asphalt and rolled over onto his side.

"Santana?" Quinn called out, realising that the Latina wasn't by her side as she heard a muffled groan and a large body hit the floor. Fuck. She turned and saw that her best friend was standing over Finn as he hit the ground. Quinn couldn't believe Santana let her violent streak get the better of her now, when she was being threatened by broken glass, of all things.

Santana leapt back before Finn could blindly slash her leg with the bottle, and began running towards Quinn at the sound of her name. In a surprisingly nimble act, Finn pulled himself up and hurled the bottle in the girls' general direction – he could just make out Quinn in the distance, but he had a better chance of getting Santana again if he put some force behind his arm.

He grinned evilly as he heard a strangled scream not so far away, and pulled the second bottle out of the holder. He smashed it against the wall, as he did with its predecessor, and began ungainly stalking towards his targets.

* * *

"They've been gone a long while," Brittany mumbled through her tears, as Rachel cradled her in the back seat of Santana's car. Both girls were absolutely terrified of what the hell was going on between Santana, Quinn and Finn. The rain was beating hard against the windows, leaving Rachel scared that she wouldn't be able to hear any sinister developments in this evening's programme.

Rachel held Brittany tighter, for her sake as well. She needed to know how Santana was out there, but she had no way of actually knowing; it killed her to know that she'd let her girlfriend stay out in the rain with a very drunk, very angry Finn Hudson, but Quinn had ordered her to take Brittany to the car. She couldn't say no to Quinn, not with the absolute fear for Brittany etched into her hazel eyes. And Santana would do what she could to protect Rachel. If anybody was going to stay back with them, it would be better if it were Quinn and Santana. They were physically superior to Rachel, thanks to years of Cheerios training, and unlike Brittany, the prospect of a fight didn't strike fear into their hearts.

Rachel looked to the faintly glowing clock on the dashboard, "About ten minutes." She looked out the windshield to get a look at what was going on, but it she could hardly see a thing. Rachel honestly didn't know what to do, and with Brittany's surprisingly strong arms wrapped around hers, she had absolutely no idea how she would actually do it.

"Is he going to hurt them?" Brittany whimpered.

"No," Rachel replied. God, she hoped she was right.

Suddenly, a buzzing sound rang through the car. Brittany and Rachel jumped at the sound motions, wondering what the hell was happening. Rachel felt the buzzing against her stomach and felt around for the source, eventually coming into contact with a solid rectangular mass in Brittany's pocket.

Rachel slid her hand into the pocket of the coat and pulled out Quinn's phone – Puck was calling. She answered immediately; the battery was almost out.

* * *

Puck checked his phone, as he lounged back on the couch at the Evans household. The screen read that it was only ten to ten and he'd only had one beer. _Lame_. He could be scoring some more beer or hooking up with some seriously hot chicks right now, but he was stuck hanging out with Sam, Mike and Tina at Sam's place. He wanted to up and leave, but he'd feel like kind of a dick leaving Tina alone with the two guys, who were engrossed in Call of Duty. Plus, it was raining pretty heavily outside. Like hell was he going to stand around a seven-eleven hoping some geezer would score him a couple cases of Natty Lite in this weather. That sucked, 'cause he knew for a fact that his house didn't contain one drop of alcohol within its' four walls because his mom hadn't been paid yet and she hadn't bought any recently.

He sighed in exasperation – Finn had left nearly two hours ago, and he wasn't picking up his phone. He probably shouldn't have let Finn leave, what with there being a good deal of alcohol in his blood, but Puck wasn't in the mood to go chasing after Finn. The quarterback had only downed three beers and he was nearly wasted; he started mumbling a bunch of angry crap about how his life was apparently ruined because Quinn, Brittany, Santana and Rachel were now batting for the other team; Puck remembered just staring at the guy like he'd been dropped on the head as a kid, or something. Or maybe Finn was just gay; what other explanation was there for him not loading up his spank bank with mental images of hot girls doing it? Puck was flabbergasted; it was almost as stupid as that time Finn thought he saw Jesus in a freakin' grilled cheese sandwich. Maybe he was just dropped on his head, after all.

After throwing him out and watching him meander down the road, Puck figured the boy would just walk it off and then come back – he sorta wished he would, 'cause Sam was looking a little lost without the Pied Piper to lead him around. He was doing okay now, seeing as he was a little tipsy and was fixated on beating Mike in a one-on-one game, but he had no hope. Mike was a frickin' boss when it came to video games. Even Puck had a hard time trying to beat him, but he'd done it.

"Has Finn answered his phone yet?" Tina came back into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. "The beer's all gone. Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," Puck waved off her pointless apology, and she took a seat next to him on the couch. "And no, he hasn't I gave up on him half an hour ago."

Tina nodded silently and took a few small bites of popcorn and checked her phone in the hope that somebody had texted her. She was stuck in a house with three guys and an abundance of video games. "Bored?"

"A little," she sighed. She looked to Puck, who looked about as disinterested in being here as she was. "Are they going to be long?"

Puck looked over to the guys; Sam was shouting insults at Mike as Sam got his ass whooped over and over, "Yeah. I'll take you home. I've only had one."

"Thanks."

"Hey, losers," Puck called, as he and Tina stood in the doorjamb, ready to leave. They didn't answer. "Just call him in the morning and act real mad, he'll be all over it," Puck muttered to Tina as he led her through the kitchen and out the front door.

Puck's truck started easily, despite the loud, rumbling noise of his engine. Tina looked apprehensive of the dirty leather seats and the seatbelts. They were tough things and she feared they'd actually cut through her skin if Puck made an emergency stop.

"Radio's broke," Puck informed Tina, as she went to switch it on, "Some girl I brought back in here threw up on it."

Tina snatched her hand away, repulsed. Puck laughed drily, but said nothing as she shot him a dark look.

"Well, uh, we're here." Puck unceremoniously announced. Tina thanked him as she left the car and entered her home. Puck waited until she'd locked the door behind her before driving off.

Maybe he'd go check if Finn was home, now that he Mike and Sam were outta his hair. He reckoned somebody should, because Finn had been in a damn bad mood when he left.

He turned his truck around and turned left at the end of Tina's road; he'd make a detour down Dudley Road to see if Quinn had any free booze going if he bugged her for long enough. Maybe if he got her drunk with some, she'd let him in on some action with Britt. Okay; maybe the lack of alcohol on a Saturday was just putting stupid ideas in his head. But it was true that Puck desperately needed something to give him a buzz after a night this damn depressing.

It wasn't long before Puck realised that something damn wrong had gone down, as he pulled up to the Fabray household; the front door was hanging off one of its' hinges, and the stained glass window in it had been taken out, with some force. Puck jumped out of the car and sprinted towards the house; he checked all the rooms for any signs of life, but found nothing apart from that everything in the room had been upturned.

Quinn's bedroom had been ravaged the worst, definitely. Her wardrobe had been cleared out, and bottles of shampoo and expensive skin creams were strewn across the floor of her en-suite bathroom. On the dresser by the window, Puck found a small wallet containing a few pictures of his Beth, sneakily taken before he and Quinn handed her over to Shelby. He picked them up, smoothing them over with his fingers, thanking God that whoever ransacked the place hadn't destroyed them. He had the same pictures tucked into a pocket in his guitar case at home, so he knew they'd be safe wherever he went. Even his sister didn't go through his guitar case. He hid the pictures under Quinn's pillow and swiftly ran downstairs to the kitchen.

In there, Puck found the fridge door wide open, leaving the room with an eerie flickering glow; he spied a few beer bottles open on the floor and the caps on the counter. He didn't know for sure who'd done this, but now he had a pretty good idea.

But the important thing was that Quinn, Britt and Judy were okay, even if he was now worrying because if they weren't here then where the hell where they? Puck whipped out his phone and dialled Quinn's number, hoping she picked up. God, this would _not_ be the best time for her to be doing it with Britt. The dial tone rang a few times, before a voice he didn't think he'd be hearing answered on the other side.

"Noah?" _Berry?_ Puck was confused; she sounded upset – almost hysterical – and he swore there was the sound of more crying in the background, but he could hear that only faintly over the sound of pounding rain.

"Rachel? Is Quinn there?" Puck slammed the fridge door shut, effectively leaving him immersed in darkness.

"She's outside, with S-Santana and Finn-"

"Where the fuck are you?" he hissed down the receiver at the first mention of Finn's name in the same sentence as Quinn and Santana's. Puck left the house and crossed the yard quickly, jumping into his truck. The clock read 22:16 – Finn had been gone for over two hours.

"At the mall! Finn's drunk and I'm afraid he's going to hurt them!"

"Shit," he growled, "Is Britt there?"

"Yes! Hurry, No-"

The line went dead. He pulled his phone back and saw that he had been on the phone for no more than thirty seconds with Rachel. Had Finn got them? He hoped that wasn't the case, and that she'd just ran outta juice, but he had to be sure. He redialled the number, but he got nothing.

Puck threw the phone into his glove compartment and swerved his car back down the other way, speeding towards the mall.

* * *

"Was that Puck?" Brittany groggily asked, as Rachel stared dumbly at the phone – she didn't expect it to die on her so quickly. She knew that Noah would be on his way, but she didn't know how long he'd take. The traffic wouldn't be a problem, but the road was wet and if he as long enough to convince Rachel that he'd gotten a damn speeding ticket then Rachel was pretty sure she'd have to take matters into her own hands.

"Yes," Rachel answered quickly, "Why didn't you tell me Quinn's phone was in there?"

"I didn't know," Brittany answered sorrowfully, looking into Rachel's worried eyes, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Britt," she whispered, brushing some hair out of the girl's face, "Don't worry. Noah will come, and they'll be okay."

"How do you know?" Rachel hated herself for the doubt in Brittany's eyes. She was so pure, so innocent; her sadness made sure those bubbly qualities was ebbing away quickly, being replaced with a seedling of scepticism.

Rachel sighed, and let a tear run down her cheek. "Because I do."

Brittany nodded and slumped back into her chair. Rachel did so, too, beside her and tried to think calm thoughts. Quinn told her to wait. Even with an order, she was feeling the need to go outside and check. Maybe she could help? No. She glanced at Brittany and she was torn. She couldn't take the girl if she left, and she couldn't just leave her.

* * *

Santana let out a pained growl as an intense burning ripped through her right calf, and stumbled against the wall, clinging to it. She had to keep a hold of something while she tried to get a hold on reality. She screwed her eyes shut and ground her teeth together to keep from yelling out in pain from the utter agony of the fact Finn had actually gotten her with that goddamned bottle neck. Even if she opened her eyes, she probably wouldn't be able to see where that lummox was. And now, with this injury, Santana wondered if she'd be able to get herself away quick enough. It wasn't enough that she was stupid enough to provoke the bastard, but now Quinn had to save her own ass _and_ Santana's.

Her mind raced to Rachel, and how she was holding up in the car. God, how could she be so _obtuse_? She didn't need Rachel worrying more than she had to, because Santana was the one that had signed up for the role of protector. She couldn't bring herself to think back to the mind-numbing look of apprehension in Rachel's eyes as Santana pressed her lips to her girlfriend's cheek before she turned back to Finn and Rachel left. She could smell the sweet scent of Rachel's perfume, tasting it on her lips, as she willed herself to pick herself up and move on so Finn's merciless drunken side couldn't damage her further.

She looked downwards, seeing an even darker patch on her jeans where the pain was pulsating around her body. She felt physically sick, as she saw the large shard of glass still lodged in a presumably nasty wound. Not far from her, lay the bottle neck Finn had actually launched at her. There was indeed a large chunk missing, which was now inside Santana's leg. She steadied herself against the wall, as she saw a puddle of blood begin to form around her heel. It was small, but it was there. _Fuck_.

In a flash, Quinn was at her side and supporting her weight. Santana pulled herself out of Quinn's arms and picked up the neck of the bottle that Finn had thrown at her, letting out a harsh whimper as she continued to bite her lips to keep Rachel and Britt hearing her scream all the way from the scream.

"No, Santana," Quinn hissed, reaching for the bottle, but Santana pulled it away from the blonde. Finn was advancing quickly, but he was still a way off. She saw he had broken the final bottle in his case and was wielding it in his right hand, more than ready to strike again. He was calling out random insults, but both ignored him. "Did he hit you bad?"

Quinn instantly wished she hadn't asked such a stupid question as she saw the shard of glass wedged in Santana's leg. This was getting way out of hand, now. Quinn kicked herself for not dragging Santana away with her as she'd ran off earlier, because when Rachel saw this there would more than likely be a grotesque homicidal attack.

"Just my leg," she replied, downplaying the wound and grimacing as she tried to support much of her weight on it, "But I'll make him pay."

"No," Quinn ordered, gently pulling Santana back towards her, "We're leaving. _Now._ I'm not giving him a chance to throw the other one."

Santana relented from arguing with Quinn and allowed the blonde to support her as they made their way down the car park. They travelled quickly than Santana's leg could take, but that was beyond the point. She'd been badly hurt and it would happen again if they weren't in that car and _soon_.

* * *

Finn kept on lurching down the asphalt, after the girls, weighed down by how wet his clothes were and the feeling of nausea overcoming him. He laughed heartily when he realised he'd hit Santana with his blind throw and couldn't wait to see what he could with this one.

* * *

Rachel was getting more and more restless by the second; she had to know what was going on.

"Do you think if I went outside...?"

"But Finn's out there!"

"So are Santana and Quinn!"

"But they told us to wait," Brittany reasoned, "I think we should."

"Britt, I just want a look. I can't see a thing from in here," Rachel countered, feeling around for the door handle.

"Okay... but don't you be gone long, either."

Rachel's stomach twisted with guilt at the meek tone of Brittany's voice. She opened the door, keeping a look out either side of her, and exited the car. She shut the door quietly behind her and moved to crouch behind the bonnet, so nobody would notice her. She just needed to see how Santana and Quinn were handling the Finn situation.

In the distance, she spotted two bodies and four legs conjoined, struggling to make ground. She thought, as she saw one of the four legs limping along at a speed Rachel deemed too fast for whatever weight it was carrying, that her heart was in her throat. He had hurt one of them. How, she didn't know; that was besides the point.

She couldn't see or hear Finn, but she didn't bet that he was far off the girls, which scared her even more. Of the two forms, she couldn't make out which of the limping figures was Santana or Quinn and she prayed as hard as she could – what else could she do from where she was? – that whatever injury had been inflicted, that it wasn't too bad.

Rachel opened her car door, but didn't get back in, "I'll be back in a minute, Brittany," she informed the girl. She held a hand up, indicating the girl not to speak, "Brittany, please stay in the car."

"They're hurt, aren't they," she mumbled. Tears pricked her blue eyes once more, and Rachel knew she couldn't leave.

"No – well, one," Rachel didn't even bother continuing with her story and just crawled back into the car and held Brittany as she cried. _Idiot_.

* * *

Puck's truck sped faster and faster towards the mall – he tooted his horn loudly to get those fuckers in front of him out the way – because it was right in his sights. The entrance to the parking lot was three hundred yards away and closing; Puck just hoped he'd made it before it was too late.

The lack of blaring blue sirens behind him was really pissing Puck off – he had hoped that by roaring down an interstate he'd catch the police's attention and lead them right to Finn – but his plan had fallen to shit. Where the fuck was Lima's Police Department when you fucking needed them?

Puck growled and turned to see if that fire extinguisher was still in the back of his truck – he caught the light reflecting off the heavy red cylinder and cheered inwardly – matters had to be taken into his own hands now. He pulled it into the passenger seat, preparing himself for a quick exit from his truck.

Puck swerved into the parking lot, and raced down the drenched asphalt. As soon as he spotted a hulking giant lurching towards who he assumed to be Quinn and Santana, he abruptly stopped the truck and yanked the extinguisher out with him.

"Yo, Finnessa!" he bellowed, "Come fuck around with somebody your own size!" He didn't wait for Finn's response, as soon as he noticed the broken bottle neck in Finn's right hand.

He wasn't about to get himself cut up with that fucking glass, so he got as close as he could to Finn to get a good aim at the quarterback's leg, and hurled the heavy metal extinguisher right at the boy's lower legs.

Finn howled in pain, as a loud crack split through the heavy air. Puck's face broke into a wide smile as he realised that he'd broken the boy's leg, but he realised there were still other things to deal with.

* * *

Rachel and Brittany froze when they heard the truck speeding into the parking lot, and Finn's loud cry of agony not ten seconds later. Puck was here.

Brittany pulled the car door open and began to sprint down the car park. Rachel kicked her heels off in the back of the car and chased after Brittany. Her feet splashed against the floor as she carried herself as fast as possible towards her girlfriend.

Brittany made it to the two first, and held up the girl's weight, making it easier on the other. Rachel got to them not long after, and she stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Santana in between the two blondes.

"Rach, just get to the car," she groaned breathlessly, hissing as her bleeding leg took her weight once more, "I'll be – I'll be f-fine..."

Rachel stood there, as if Santana had just spoken to her in Ancient Greek. Santana slumped against Quinn's shoulders, as the full extent of the blood loss and her exhaustion at trying to carry on took its' toll on her and she blacked out.

Quinn pulled Santana into her arms and laid her on the ground, checking for a pulse. "She's okay," she reassured Rachel, "She's got a pulse."

Puck appeared seconds later, "Is she?"

"No," Quinn answered quickly. Santana hadn't lost _that_ much blood... surely?

Puck pushed past Quinn and threw the keys to his truck into her lap as she knelt on the ground, and scooped Santana up in his arms, carrying her towards the car. "You and Britt follow us to the hospital," he shouted, "Rach'll come with me, in S's car. I need to lay San down in the back." Puck easily gave the orders, but inside he was crapping himself – he hadn't once seen Santana Lopez in such danger before. She kept herself safe, dammit. Finn would pay for this.

Rachel didn't argue with Puck and flitted to his side, jogging to keep up with his long strides towards Santana's car in the far corner of the lot.

Quinn grabbed Brittany's hand and pulled her towards Puck's beat-up truck; she wouldn't waste a second in getting to the hospital. Rachel needed a support system to help her through this.

"Why have you stopped?" Brittany asked her, when Quinn suddenly halted her sprint.

"What are we going to do about Finn?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Makin' Music**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Santana/Rachel, Quinn/Brittany**

**A/N: Terribly sorry for the wait. Thanks for the favourites and subscriptions, even after... well, over a whole month. Almost two. Good God. I'm not even going into the list of crap, but it all essentially translates into the mother of all writer's block and inability to get down whatever the fuck I could actually think of. So much to do, so little time.**

**I hope this sort of makes up for the hiatus, as it were.**

* * *

**Makin' Music**

Quinn sneered down at Finn, who was still lying on the ground in the foetal position, clenching his hands with the unyielding pain throbbing in his leg. It looked badly broken, and Quinn definitely knew what a broken leg looked like. She'd seen some of the best Cheerios topple from the pyramid and break their legs; that usually wasn't as painful as being degraded by Sue Sylvester for screwing up one of her epic formations, but still.

Finn had let go of the broken bottle neck, and it had rolled out of his reach along the slight slant of the parking lot. Quinn walked over to it and further kicked it away, in case he suddenly got up and dragged himself to it. She'd seen enough movies to be paranoid about it.

The bottle sailed across the rain-slicked ground and knocked against a stray fire extinguisher with a huge dent in the side of it. She had found Puck's weapon of choice, and was secretly impressed. That was besides the point – what the hell were they going to do now?

"Ow, it hurts," he groaned, "Oh..."

"Quiet," she growled. Angry couldn't begin t describe what she felt about Finn Hudson right now. He got what he damn well deserved, Quinn reckoned, but she didn't think that leaving him here would further help anybody out. If something happened to him out here, it would be on Quinn and Brittany's shoulders for the rest of their lives.

Quinn didn't even bother trying to get a hold of Puck or Rachel, as the car sped past them and flew out of the exit towards the hospital. Santana had to be seen by a doctor as quickly as possible, so it wasn't like Puck and Rachel could spare fifteen minutes trying to haul Finn into the back of Puck's truck.

Puck's truck wasn't so far away; maybe dragging Finn to it wouldn't be such a hard job to do, but it would take a hell of a lot of work. Quinn was pretty strong and Brittany was able to take more weight than she, with her sneakily muscular dancer's body, but Finn was massive and there was no way in hell he'd be able to support any of his own weight on his broken leg, much less the fully functional one, with the sheer amount of alcohol in his blood stream.

"Maybe we could just call the cops," Brittany muttered. Quinn snapped her eyes to Brittany's, and furrowed her brow.

"With what?"

"Puck's phone; how else do you think he called us?" Brittany pulled Quinn's phone out of her pocket and shook it at her. "Yours ran outta battery, though."

_Puck called them? I guess it explained how he just randomly showed up and took Finn out like he was some kind of hero._ "Aw, crap. What if Puck's taken his phone?"

"I'll go and look for it," Brittany offered, and ran off. With the bad luck the four of them had been subject to tonight, Quinn didn't hold her breath for Brittany to come back with Puck's phone in her hand. She had to think of a way to pull Finn up and get him in the back of that damn truck.

A clap of thunder boomed across the sky, followed by a bolt of lightning. Quinn jumped at the rumbling through the ground, and looked back to the truck, upon hearing a small squeal of fear.

Quinn looked down to Finn again and found that he was looking up at her, having rolled over onto his back. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was gasping for air, spluttering as the rain beat down onto his face.

"Quinn, I think –"

"Shut it," she snarled, as she backed away to the truck, "I don't want to hear it. I'm only helping you because I can't just leave you out here like you're some dead animal; like I'm sure you planned to do with us."

Finn leaned up and rested on his elbows uneasily, grimacing in pain, as he realised he probably shouldn't be moving with his leg like this. The agony was sobering, to say the least, never mind the layers of revulsion in Quinn's voice. "No, I think I-I'm gonna hurl..."

His face looked extraordinarily pale, and his mouth was hanging open, sucking in oxygen. He let out a few burps that must've been gross, considering he was scrunching his face up and spitting out the taste of them. Quinn knew those signs from her morning sickness days.

"Oh dear God," Quinn groaned. She turned and made her way back to the truck, dialling nine-one-one and wrapped an arm around Brittany's shoulders. She kept an eye on Finn, rather unsure of what she herself would be able to do for him, whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

"Santana?"

Santana's eyes fluttered open, to reveal to her three very blurry Rachels in front of her the back of her dark car, raising her leg, "Sit still..." She reached out, as if trying to steady Rachel and felt her girlfriend's hands grab hers.

Her leg was throbbing with pain that hadn't subsided since her eyes fell shut the first time. It was galling. She tried to stretch out her other leg, but she found it was pressed against the side of her car. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she felt a wet sweatshirt behind her head, like some kind of soggy pillow. "Ugh..."

"Noah, she's awake," Rachel informed him, still holding Santana's leg up to lessen the blood flow. She was holding the leg precariously, so as not to dislodge or dig the shard of glass that was in Santana's leg in further. "It's okay, San, we're going to the hospital."

"Keep her that way," he growled back. "How's her leg?"

"It's better," Rachel reluctantly answered, though she wasn't entirely sure. She knew that she was definitely minimising the flow of blood by elevating Santana's leg and applying pressure to the wound, but she couldn't just look. She'd wrapped Santana's blazer around the girl's leg pretty tight.

"Please don't pass out again," Rachel pleaded, before almost falling on top of her girlfriend's injured leg when Puck cut over the sidewalk and ran a red light simultaneously, "Noah!"

"Fuck the traffic, Rachel!"

"I nearly fell on her, is what I mean! You have _got_ to be more careful!"

"Ah, shut up, the both o' you," Santana groaned. "Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me," Rachel soothed, "You're the one who's hurt."

"Uh huh," Santana yawned, and settled her head back on her makeshift cushion. Exhaustion was overcoming her once again.

"Santana, no, baby, don't shut your eyes..."

* * *

"I was thinking you'd probably want to stay the night in this weather," Judy suggested, as she and David drove home from a rather upscale French restaurant that was smack bag in the middle of town.

She felt giddy. Her date with David Williamsburg had gone very, very well. She hadn't felt _this_ great about a date since she'd first started dating Russell, _way_ back in the nineteen-eighties. David was new. She felt ecstatic every time she'd been on a date with him and Quinn seemed to get along with him. Life was finally starting to turn itself around.

She had been thinking of a good enough guise under which she could ask David to stay a little while longer than she imagined he intended without success – the rain alone was a pretty lame excuse, but a full-scale thunderstorm was much more appropriate; if such a word could be used at a time like this, that was.

"Sure," David accepted, smiling to himself, "What about Quinn?"

"She told me she would be staying with Brittany tonight," Judy replied, fiddling nervously with her purse. "I still can't understand how you got reservations at that place."

"A month of patient waiting," he returned, leaning across the centre console and briefly kissing her cheek.

He was glad she'd asked him over, already. If the thunderstorm wasn't enough to get her to ask, he didn't know what would. They were both adults, sure, but they had both experienced their fair share of screwed up relationships.

David had dated a string of crazy women and married two of them, with no children produced from either union, whereas Judy had only been married once, for most of her life, to the same, merciless man who broke her – and her family – into pieces.

David was sure of Judy, though. Sure, she was a little conservative and old fashioned, but he would stick it out, because there was just something there with her. He admired that she was confident in herself after so long, but the defining moment?

When she made sure he accepted her daughter, no matter if she was dating the blonde cheerleader or the hulking footballer. It took him aback, at first that she believed he might have forsaken everything they could be because of a lifestyle choice that Quinn herself had no decision over.

He admired her for taking the chance of not having him if he had even one bone to pick with Quinn, but after she'd really explained to him that her family meant more to him than ever –and why – he had no words left to say.

"Oh my God!" Judy shrieked.

"What? Judy – Oh..." David's mouth hung open as he saw the state that Judy's house was in, and stopped the car abruptly as he saw Judy opening the door, stumbling out of the car and scrambling up the yard, calling out for Quinn and being returned with nothing.

The door was hanging off the hinges and inside, the house had been turned upside down. Judy had to make sure Quinn was okay; and Brittany too, if she was even here. She pulled out her mobile, and found that she hadn't received a text from her daughter at all. There were no new messages in the answering machine, either.

David sprinted after her, glancing around into rooms. The kitchen and bedrooms had been trashed the most; the living room had been badly ransacked, although nothing specific had been damaged.

After a mad search, he and Judy stood and faced each other in the hall, worried eyes staring back into each other, listening to the sound of the storm outside. The wind was blowing the door into the wall, and fragments of glass clinked on sandstone as it was blown astray.

David took Judy into his arms as she began to cry, and took her into the living room to take a seat on the couch. He pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Quinn's number, hoping she'd pick up, for everyone's sake.

"Have you gotten hold of her?"

"No," David replied gruffly, as he tried the number again. All he got was the dial tone. He was hoping that it was either switched off or out of battery.

"What if something happened?" She asked him, her voice but a whisper over the wind and rain.

"Don't think like that; look, we need to get you to the station, and report this."

* * *

Puck lifted Santana out of the back of the car, carefully. She felt so fragile in his arms, limp and dazed. Her chest was rising and falling ever so faintly, Puck wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not.

He had to tell himself what tiny movements his eyes showed him was really there, otherwise he'd lose all hope. He couldn't even bring himself to look Rachel directly in the eye; the events of tonight had _really_ hit him, and Puck wasn't sure if he could take it.

He carried Santana into the foyer of the hospital. Thankfully, one of the emergency services knew what they were doing – Santana was taken from his arms and into a little place to have her seen to in seconds.

It was a blur; Puck had strode into the Emergency Room and yelled that she'd been cut bad by a drunken nut job and that someone had better give him a phone to call the cops, in case Quinn and Brittany hadn't found his phone.

If Puck was going to do one thing right tonight, he would make damn sure that someone would be down there with Quinn and Britt. He looked to Rachel, seeing that he probably wouldn't be able to leave her alone as Santana was wheeled away on a gurney.

Rachel could see the look of anguish in Puck's eyes. She walked over to him, to make sure he was okay. This had been a tough night on him, too. "Noah, I think you should sit down. Who were you going to call?"

Puck looked to her, and hung the receiver back on the hook. He looked around, from side to side, finally coming to a decision. "I was gonna call the cops, but... Quinn and Britt... We just left them..."

"Noah, we need to have the authorities involved," Rachel countered, sighing heavily. This was just _so_ fucked up. Utterly, utterly fucked up. She had no idea where the hell Santana was, and it scared her. Part of her comfort, if any, was that she wasn't allowed to see her girlfriend right now. She was pretty sure she'd break if she had to see Santana's face, still and content from anaesthesia, or exhaustion. Anaesthesia.

She near collapsed into a chair by a vending machine, holding her head in her hands, trying to make sense of the flurry of thoughts rushing through her head at a million miles an hour. She knew he'd always try his best to do what he could, but she didn't think she had the energy to sit back and let him do it.

"But what if they need me?" Puck hissed, taking the seat next to Rachel's and coaxing her head out of her hands, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She looked up at him and smiled weakly, through her exhaustion.

"Noah! Unless you left the cell phone you called me on in your truck, you are _not_ leaving me alone to wait for Santana," Rachel quirked an eyebrow and waited for his reply. Noah looked taken aback; he hadn't expected such a sharp response, considering she looked on the brink of collapse.

"My phone's in my glove compartment," he informed her, sighing, after a moment of thought. It was reassuring to know that he'd actually kept it somewhere useful this time. One time, he left it on the kitchen table and he'd gotten a real dirty text from some cheerleader and his sister saw it; damn, he did _not_ think he'd ever seen his mom so pissed with him. Well, apart from the time she found out he'd knocked up Quinn.

"Well, then," Rachel sighed. She shot up from the chair and began pacing up and down the small stretch of corridor she and Noah currently occupied, muttering incoherently to herself and running her hands through her drenched hair. She couldn't just sit there. The worry was beginning to translate into adrenaline.

"I'm going for a walk," Puck suddenly announced, running a hand through his 'hawk, "Be back in a minute." He rounded the corner, before she had a chance to ask him just where he was going. Because in all honesty, neither did he.

Rachel was totally freaking him out, muttering to herself like that. Puck tried to think of something to say, but he just couldn't. He wasn't the most emotional of dudes, especially with an overload of his own threatening to kick his ass right now.

Relief that Santana was in the safe hands of Lima General was the only thing keeping him from speeding back to that damn parking lot and tearing Finn limb from limb. He knew Rachel would be able to take care of herself if he was gone for a little while, without a doubt; she was strong, and Santana's dad would find her soon enough.

When the cops would get involved, though, Puck was worried about how he'd break it to the Fabrays about the fact Finn had been with him earlier on. In fact, Finn was mad before he'd started drinking. Puck just threw beers at him, thinking the dude would get a buzz and threw him out when he didn't.

If he'd been as responsible as he'd promised himself he would be none of this mess would ever have happened. Santana wouldn't be surrounded by a flurry of overtired doctors trying to see to an unnecessary wound, and Quinn's place wouldn't look like someone dropped a bomb on it.

Quinn's house being trashed wasn't exactly the biggest priority here, although thinking about Judy Fabray getting pissed at him sounded a hell of a lot better than whatever the hell was going on here.

* * *

Rafael looked out of the room Santana was in and noticed Rachel meekly making her way along the bustling corridor, unsure of whether she was supposed to be there or not. She wasn't, and Rafael wondered who she'd bribed to get up there. Either that, or she was sneaky.

He stepped out of the room and stood face to face with her with a few loping strides. "Rachel... Are you okay?"

"Physically, yes; emotionally not so much."

Apparently there were to be no visitors this evening, as yet. Rachel promised herself she would stick around just as soon as she would be able to see her girlfriend, though. It was a given, really. Noah hadn't returned from his 'walk' in half an hour, so Rachel decided she would go on one of her own. She had shocked herself with waiting that amount of time to try and see Santana in the first place, but she was trying to respect the orders of the doctors who had told her nobody would be seeing Santana for a little while.

"Yeah..." Rafael rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say to her. Both of them had no idea what to say to the other, as their eyes were fixated down the hall to Santana's room. He pulled off his sweater, and handed it to the shivering girl. "Take this, you're soaking. And uh," he fished around in his back pocket, produced his wallet and thrust ten dollars into her hand. "Get yourself to the cafeteria and have a hot drink. And, um, I guess you can call your parents with the spare change."

She offered Rafael a small smile in exchange for the oversized blue garment and shrugged on his sweater; it was three times too big for her, at least, and drowned her diminutive frame, draped loosely over her shoulders and almost reaching the hem of her skirt as it hung down her body.

"Thanks," she mumbled. She curled her hands into fists, tightly wrapped her arms around her body, shivering a little, with warmth overcoming her. Her legs were still freezing, but she was grateful of at least her torso enveloped in fuzzy heat and spicy aftershave.

"Don't worry about it," he returned, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Now get out of here." He nudged her a little, sending her on her way. He watched as she left reluctantly. "She'll be fine," he assured her. "Just take care of yourself. I'll let you know when you can see her."

She nodded, offered him a weak smile, and hurriedly left before she had a chance to second-guess him again. She would see Santana soon, hopefully, and for now she just had to worry about getting a warm drink to iron out her chills. Oh, and she had to find Puck.

Rafael fisted his hands in his pockets and quickly re-entered Santana's room, giving a curt nod to the doctor who'd just left, and handed Rafael her chart before leaving the two in peace.

Santana was still dazed from the morphine and the local anaesthetic she'd been given for her leg. She was quite comfortable propped up in the bed, her head sunken into the pillow as her eyelids fluttered rapidly. He turned on a side lamp and switched off the main lights glaring down at her from the ceiling and sat on the edge of her bed.

She fell into slumber quickly, her brow furrowed, as he lightly stroked her cheek. He couldn't bring himself to look at the fresh dressing on her leg for too long, if even at all, for fear he'd break his hand punching the wall, wishing he could substitute the drywall for the face of who'd done this to his daughter.

* * *

"Noah?"

"Crap," Puck hissed. He didn't want Rachel to find him. He'd been stewing over what he'd be telling the cops in terms of where Finn had been and who he'd been with before he decided to go loco at the mall.

Rachel took the chair opposite him and tried to meet his eyes with her own, putting one of her sweater-covered hands over his own. He looked up, scowling, though he refused to meet her eyes.

"Are you alright? You look awfully pale." She ran her thumb along his knuckles, coaxing his eyes to meet hers. She flashed him a brief smile, and took a sip of her coffee.

"Look, Rach, I gotta tell you something." She merely nodded, allowing him to go on. He sent up one last silent prayer for Rachel not to castrate him if she got pissed. "Finn was with me before he found you guys."

"What?"

"Finn and I, we were with Sam, Mike and Tina, drinking, playing video games. We played more video games than anything, because Finn drank everything. He was mad when he came by, so I just made him drink 'cause I thought he'd get a buzz and calm down, but he got worse, so I threw him out."

Rachel furrowed her brow. "And then he just happened to find us at the mall?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Puck hissed, "I didn't know what the fuck he was going to do! He trashed Quinn's place and went fucking nuts!"

Rachel took a deep breath. She still had her hand firmly over Noah's, although she was beginning to squeeze, willing herself not to explode in the middle of the cafeteria; there were several sleep deprived doctors milling around, relatives stricken with worry and the odd insomniac patient sipping on a warm drink. "Why was he mad?"

"Something about Quinn being a total bitch to him in the mall, and he was pissed at Santana, mainly, 'cause you're all gay and stuff."

"And you think letting him out of your sight in that state was the sensible thing to do?"

"I didn't think he'd do what he did!"

"You shouldn't have let him out of your sight!"

"I know. Look, I'm real sorry." Puck placed his other hand atop Rachel's, "I'll take whatever I have to when I tell the cops, okay? I'll take more. I'll do whatever I can to make it better, but I don't know what the hell that is, Rach."

* * *

"Oh, thank God you're both all right!" Judy Fabray jumped out of her chair as soon as she saw a drenched Quinn and Brittany pass into Lima Police Station. She had to wind knocked out of her as her mother enveloped the two girls in a bone-crushing hug.

Brittany's parents emerged next, rushing to the girls. Brittany's mother handed them each a towel to dry themselves off, relief flooding her senses as they were out of the terrible weather.

"There'll be time for the family catch-ups later," a stout police officer ordered, following Quinn and Brittany through the door. He pulled off his leather gloves and slapped them atop the front desk, "Right now, I gotta get statements from these two ladies."

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Let them go home," Brittany's father, Arnold, objected, "They need rest, Liddell."

"We need statements," Liddell shot back, as his colleague ushered the girls and their mother into a quiet side room. Arnold quietly shut the door behind him and returned to his colleague, leaning against the front desk.

"Pete, I won't argue with you. Neither of them are in the right frame of mind to give statements right now."

"If they're not making a statement, they're staying overnight in a cell."

"I'm taking them home, and I'll bring them here in the morning for their statement," Arnold ground out.

"It won't take long if they co-operate," Liddell snapped, more than frustrated with the tall blonde after the night he'd already had; shouting, screaming, something about fire extinguishers and bleeding and hospitals. He was glad he'd written all of what he'd gotten down, because there was no way he'd remember it later on.

"Nobody else is giving statements now. It can wait until morning," Arnold hissed, crossing the foyer to the side room, "It _will_ wait until morning."

The door of the station burst open, a tall, dishevelled boy allowing himself in, followed by a shorter, older woman with a stern look on her face and arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Can I help you, son?" Arnold offered, pulling away from the side room. He'd seen the boy before, although he wasn't entirely sure where.

"Noah Puckerman," he introduced himself, running his hand through the soaked strip of hair atop his head. He glanced to the woman, and she nudged him forward. "I'm here to give a statement about the bust-up at the mall."

Pete smirked over at Arnold, before straightening his tie and turned to face their guest. He gestured down the hall, "Right this way, kid."

* * *

Rachel's fathers hadn't taken long to get to Lima General once she'd called in. She would have called sooner, but after seeing Finn being wheeled into the hospital with a flustered Carole and a rather flabbergasted Burt not far behind, she had to take a walk to calm herself down before she attacked the boy in a fit of rage.

Her fathers had driven Sarah Puckerman over, too, with the mention of Noah also at the hospital. She was worried, though also relieved that he wasn't hurt, and proceeded to fuss over him embarrassingly, something which he wouldn't stand for, even in these circumstances. But most of all, Noah was pissed they'd gotten there before he coulf high tail it to the station. Rachel had told him he had to wait to tell his mother – because if she found out that her son was involved in a police investigation, she'd lose her shit pretty damn fast, and _nobody_ would want to see that.

"Look, ma, I have to go to the cops. No point in me hangin' around here if I'm okay," he insisted.

"Cops?" Sarah was shocked, although when she thought about it, it was going to be sooner rather than later that Noah was involved in something besides terrorising some high school mathletes. She didn't look to Noah for an answer and instead turned to Rachel, "What exactly happened here?"

"There's too much to explain right now," Noah pressed, pulling her attention back to him. "I'm going to the station right now, alright? Come with me or stay, whatever; but I'm not wasting any more of my time."

"I'm coming with you," Sarah demanded, following after him.

"Fine. Come with me to the car," he pulled Santana's keys out of his pockets and strode to the door, his mother having to make two steps for every one he took.

"Don't you think you should be going, too?" Hiram gestured after Noah and Sarah. Rachel looked indifferently back at him, merely offering a shrug in return.

"Hiram, she obviously hasn't gone for a damn good reason," Leroy admonished. "But do you think you should?"

"I'll have to at some point. Tomorrow. But I haven't seen Santana yet." Rachel wiped her eyes with the sleeve of Rafael's sweater, before she could burst into tears; it was beginning to feel long overdue that she did.

"Oh, honey," Leroy wrapped Rachel in his arms, "What happened?"

"Finn happened."

"I told you that boy was bad news," Leroy grumbled.

"Rachel, sweetheart. He didn't hurt her, did she?"

"Why else would I be here?" Rachel ground out.

"She's alright, isn't she?" Leroy asked, hoping to calm Rachel down.

"I saw her father and he assured me that was going to be okay," Rachel informed them, taking a deep breath, "But I refuse to leave until I've seen her."

"I don't think you'll be able to do that until morning, sweetie." Hiram interjected. "You should get some rest, too, if you need to go to the station as well." He looked Rachel dead in the eye, making sure she didn't break eye contact.

"Fine. But I'm coming straight back here afterwards."

"Of course you are," Hiram returned. He stifled a yawn, and placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder. She could explain the sweater to him later.

* * *

"You did what?"

"Quinn, I swear! I didn't think he'd trash your place, okay?"

"Noah Puckerman, I swear-"

"Quinn, please, it's all right," Judy soothed, "The damage wasn't substantial. It'll just need sorting out and it won't take long. And David's already offered to have us stay with him for a few days while it's refurbished."

Quinn's glower lingered on Puck, almost cowering in his chair in the corner of the room. "Fine." She'd only been round to David's house one time. It was tiny – well, crapmed, compared to what she was used to – but she'd stick it out. It was further away from Brittany's place, which annoyed her more about the whole arrangement, though. She ignored Sarah Puckerman's look of incredulity on her face – she'd seen enough of those when she was pregnant and ranting at Puck about his insane Mario Brothers theories. Even Sarah knew they were crazy, although Quinn did get fairly vocal about it.

She took a seat by the door, staring at the frosted glass – as if it would melt away and she could see how Brittany was faring. She'd been in there for a while, now. "What the hell are they doing, interrogating her?"

"She won't be much longer, Quinn," Judy reassured her, though Quinn didn't take much notice of her mother's words. She was just waiting for the door to open so she could see Britt, and then maybe they'd be able to see how Santana was before she crashed ungracefully into bed.

"Wait; Fabray... I recognise that name," Pete mused. His eyes flitted back and forth between Judy and Quinn, rapping his knuckles on the top of the front desk he was leaning over.

"Could you stop staring at us like that? You're freaking me out," Quinn snapped. Judy threw Quinn a stern look, though her daughter continued to glower at the portly man, with his furrowed brow.

"I got it; you're that drunken guy's kid, and you're his ex-wife, obviously; Russell, isn't it?" he grinned, tapping his balding head, "I know what's going on, see."

"Must you be so insensitive?" David admonished.

"How the hell are you still in this job?" Quinn growled.

"Quinn, just leave it," David warned, "And you can keep your mouth firmly _shut_ unless it's anything relevant to the case at hand, got it?"

"Just makin' conversation," he shrugged. He looked across the room, taking note of the mix of anger and incredulity of those in the room with him. "Coffee, anyone?" Each of them refused him with a sharp shake of their heads, leaving him to waddle off to the coffee dispenser in some back room a way down the hall. "Ah, suit yourselves."

Quinn scowled as he left, beginning to plot endless way to make the man's life a misery. _So maybe I'm overreacting... I'm tired. But he's still a total jackass._ She was snapped out of her reverie, however, when the door opened and Brittany entered the hallway, faint purple rings beginning to take residence around her eyes, exhaustion beginning to take its' toll on her.

"Come on," Judy said, "Sleep. For the both of you."

"But we have to see Santana," Quinn protested. She slipped an arm around Brittany's waist and leant into her girlfriend's taller frame, "We have to."

"Tomorrow, darling," Judy assured her. "She'll be getting her rest, so I suggest the both of you do, too."

* * *

"Yeah, like I'm eating this crap for breakfast," Santana snapped. She folded her arms across her chest and refused to acknowledge the plate of food on the tray before her, curling her lip in disgust. "You aren't made to eat this, are you?"

"I bring my own for that exact reason," Rafael told her, "but you're a patient here, so you're going to eat it."

"I'm also the daughter of one of the most senior doctors in this hell-hole. Just bring me something up from the cafeteria."

"I can't do that, whether you're my daughter or not," Rafael replied firmly. He picked up the fork and handed it to a reluctant Santana "Just quit whining so much; nobody asked you to get up so damn early. And don't get so stressed over a plate of food."

"I wouldn't call that food."

"I wouldn't be so ungrateful, if I were you," he shot back. "I'll be back in a second to see to that dressing of yours and then I'll drive you to the station so you can give your statement."

"Then I can go home?"

"Naturally. Just take it easy for the rest of the day, and we'll see how you go, alright?" Rafael smirked down at Santana, who was still thoroughly unimpressed with her meal. He watched as she took a reluctant mouthful, stifling a laugh at her ludicrous facial expressions.

"Okay, that was gross; even I could do better than that," she growled, and threw her fork back onto the tray.

"Hardly," Rafael scoffed. "I think you're still delirious from the medication."

* * *

By lunchtime, Santana had been reacquainted with the plush couch in front of the monstrous widescreen television in the living room, Rachel curled up next to her. They'd already been there for about an hour after the girls had given their statements, and Santana had managed to persuade Rachel to make her a bacon sandwich – the girl made them better than Santana could and she was vegan, for crying out loud – it might have cost her several minutes of cuddle time and Rachel made her promise to read her grandmother's damn recipe book sometime soon, but she figured it was worth it. Sort of.

"I'll have nightmares for a week after that," Rachel announced, plopping down onto the couch next to her girlfriend, who was reclining on the couch in the living room with her feet on the coffee table. "And you're going to school tomorrow, whether you like it or not."

"Rach, everyone will see the dressing."

"Wear your sweat pants, then," Rachel retorted, reaching for the remote perched on Santana's lap, "And change this over; _Jersey Shore_ is just atrocious."

"Okay, okay. I'll suck it up tomorrow." Santana didn't reckon Rachel would take much of milking the whole 'finding it difficult to walk' thing, but it was worth shot. "But this is staying on until the end of the episode," Santana snatched the remote away, holding it out of the diva's reach.

"You have dire tastes in television," Rachel jibed, giving up on trying reaching the remote, and suddenly peeled herself off of the couch. "I'm leaving."

"I'll change the channel if it means that much to you," Santana threw the remote at the girl's hands. Rachel caught it, but placed it on the coffee table and continued on her way to the door.

"The look on your face there was priceless," Rachel giggled, "But seriously; I'm going home to select some more musicals from my room in an attempt to increase the quality of your viewing material. That," she pointed an accusatory finger at the television, "Is nothing short of an actual disgrace."

"Or you could pick something out the mountain of DVDs in the rack?"

"I think not," Rachel scoffed, perusing the rack; violent action films were not to her taste, no matter how Santana tried to persuade her. She had enough of being coaxed into watching those sorts of films by her own fathers, let alone her girlfriend.

"If that's the case, I'm pretty sure we could find some form of entertainment not involving the TV," she suggestively waggled her eyebrows, beckoning Rachel to come back to the couch.

"You're supposed to be resting," Rachel sighed. It didn't sound like much of a resistance, especially as Rachel was already slowly stepping back to the couch, "I promised your father I'd take care of you." Rachel climbed back onto the couch and pressed her lips to Santana's softly. The Latina took advantage of that and deepened the kiss, although Rachel broke the kiss before it got _too_ heated – so her girlfriend's hands wandering up her shirt _already_ wasn't too bad – for them, anyway. "You're on pain medication; wouldn't I be taking advantage of you?"

Santana laughed drily, and observed Rachel's flushed cheeks, before she pulled her back into another passionate kiss; rhetorical questions were her favourite kind.


End file.
